There is a fear of mine, a fear I have always had that kills me With ever breath of its emortle soul The night mare lingers A lost angel cries Amd suddenly, I am worthless again This fear, you see, Is unlike any other It makes days long Nights longer With a broken hour glass of time I can not inhale the sweet relief of an exhale that will never come The fear taunts me It points at me in a crowded room and laughs It knows it is killing me. Murdering me. This fear... Of being less than perfect.
Reason for writing:
Self explanitory
Birth sign: Libra
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