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Product of My Imperfection
The product of my imaginary fears
Is the scent of imperfection
Displayed neatly by golden flasks
As bubbling liquids overflow
Into another world I go
Falling faster
Farther
A wreck
That is what I call myself
An imperfect wreck
A problem
A waste of precious time
I lost control
Emotions stole my breath
Tumbling backward
Down a spiral staircase
My weakness, my sensitivity
Pours down, as I violently collapse
Weak in the knees
No more strength, all spent
Moving so fast
Moments flashing by
Like a train at full speed
Preparing to crash
Brick wall hinders the path
Death upon impact
