There’s a limit to perfection.
You said it was over, but you’re still breathing.
You said you were done, but you’re not.
You said you were dying, but you’re moving.
You said you would run but you’re stuck.

You’re not crazy enough for crazy.
You’re not bad enough for that.
You can’t sleep and you’re crying
But cutting you lack.
You don’t think of dying
You just lay there instead
You’re too lazy for suicide
Or so they said.
Two steps to the door
And then three steps more.
Stare in the mirror
Too hate yourself more.
You couldn’t hurt a fly,
So why start with me?
But still the future,
Your brain cannot see.
Two steps to the bath tub
Fill that thing deep
Now chose between drowning
Or making veins leak.
Best foot forward
Who cares if you’re dressed
Perhaps in the paper
You’ll finally impress.
Those people
They’re watching
Through windows
And doors
They’re nosey
And need all the details of your
misdeavours and cravings
and lustings for endings
but in the end they’re only pretending.
To care.
To be there.
In the end
it’s just you.
Who knows
what the
final ending
may do.
There’s no limit to imperfection.

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