Perfection Is An Imperfect Science

We, don't repeat history

we repeat ourselves. Like

we are being told to...

in your heart they are with 

you, but that image keeps changing, and it's only an idea of

fate, or the getting good, it too,

it's only the memory.

We do unto others, as ourselves...the truth we are less of what we are, and

less of what we were.

Because they are seen as two points, and you are one,

where

if luck has anything to do with it, we are little more than pretenses to what we set in motion.

And if perfection is a science

it's one that is imperfect because

the magic in this world,

released the golden vault,

where forbidden knowledge 

is still being chewed up....

but the truth can't be ignored,

you stole what wasn't yours. 

And the synergy of it disguises you in such detailed languages.

And to feel the unnatural and fill 

ourselves with anything,

that void. We call self. 

Is an illusion we feed 

as many illusions as we 

live in them.

But break them 

and if they may

seem less than fake.

It's because they are.

They still constitute a simplicity of views.

In the light of anything, what is reality?

In the microscope

what are we tied to?

A systematic pulse

to fight, run or hide?

The perfection is...

that we all are imperfect.

The perfection in this fallen world.