Seeking release, I utter a syllable of perfection,
defying my modest sense of perception,
yet daring me to a state of contemplating,
meditating not, as i should on the beauty,
seeing only ugly, leering masks grinning from behind the wall
the one we built out of good intentions,
yet twisted like a road to damnation
to enclose us within our brittle shells of selves,
always seeing less than we wish, yet no more than our comfort allows.
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