eyes casting forth glances of disdain
don’t they see I’m a saint
I should be praised
while I parade past my own remains
I strive for perfection

they should hang on every word I speak
lick the dirt off my lips
and kiss my cheeks
cheer on the evolution that I seek
I am ripe for perfection

but I gradually cut out all the pieces I don’t like
I enslaved myself to a maniacal mind

now I’m a bitter better person
a superficial version