A Series of Untitled Poems.


1. 1.

Years are measly in comparison
to an entire lifetime but
when such a life is full of
lackluster events and broken dreams, 
I'd love to keep you as
the sole thing I kept perfect. 

But what is perfect?
I cannot hold you close to
a beating heart, unknowing. 

Perfect is undefinable, infinite, 
something shown through experience; 
with scars from such a thing
so prominent on perfection's face
as it smiles with gleaming teeth
and breaks the souls of many. 

I cannot keep such a broken soul
beside such a perfect being
when I do not deserve it. 

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