Perfection
is the ache
in my chest.
Beats alongside my heart and
keeps the misery company.
Failure
visits too often.
Gives condolences
for the loss of self-worth
then
bids farewell without leaving.
Worthlessness
is a feeling unbeknownst to
happy,
genuine,
perfect
people.
Guilt
comes in packages so small.
It makes no entrance,
it gives no welcome-
simply injects itself into the skin
and spreads like a disease.
Depression
rhymes with confusion;
gives the same effect as
a gender-confused purple lion
drifting in the sea.
