his cracks, are my perfections
and I am worthy ofonly endings,
as his symmetry is my conviction
an image of interrogation,
nobody believes
what the babbling bard speaks.
The static on computer screen,
some disconnected pixels of pacified lies,
that will never be viewable again.
Eyes, like pebbles, probing into a past
and shall we leave it at that.
Tears, should never fall in mirrors
as artifical animation knows no feeling
but does she echo my emotions?
Droplets of decaying deception lay,
on decomposing cheeks, burning out like stars
as teardrops scorch her memory.
She's so sorry she's no perfection,
tried so hard to echo expectations
but she's tired, of forgetting to fit in.
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