Perfect


Perfect

Every perfect thing is not actually perfect
There is a thread that binds things from becoming perfect. Sometimes the thread is too thin to notice.
So no matter how perfect one’s life may seem, there is always some dark spot. Some shadow of the past that holds back.
Easily avoidable, but not erasable.

My life seems very simple and straight forward now a days.

I attend classes, eat, sleep and spend times with friends. With smokes and coffees. At times butter buns join the party.

I work. I work my ass off. I feel alive. I feel like I can breathe while I drown myself with works. I don’t sleep. I can’t make myself sleep. So, I work.

I have started to become mean. I want people to alienate me. I have found a perfect repelling spell. And works wonderfully well.

Untitled

To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.

Perfect life. Mornings start with a coffee, a cigarette and alien thoughts.

I want this forever. For forever.

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