Sweet Desires and sins.

What I don’t have,
Perfection.
I don’t weep at its absence.
Yet I weep when it manifests in others.

A silhouette of their shallow mind,
And pity won’t take long to show.
A realisation of my shallowness,
The creases and holes in me grow.

What I don’t have,
Perfection?
A drug, dazed I’ll be, once it’s possessed?

The possession of this sin,
The end of me will begin.

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