Perfection exists
in the form of blue eyes
two arm thick waists
and Malibu skies

Perfection exists
in thick sultry words
free of fallacy
too undeterred

What is good?
What is true?
Is it raw?
Is it you?

Away from your screens
Is it fleeting? Does it linger?
(Perfection exists—
not any longer)

From here to you I say
Writing is your healing,
Never let it get away.

Waken up again
from a nightmare of sin
can’t shake these feelings that you bring
or the evil song you sing
trying so hard to heal
but I’m wrapped up in the Devil’s deal

Sleeping so peacefully
with happy dreams I do believe
every breath is calm and pure
dreaming of happiness I’m sure
you’ve already paid your dues
now your dreams are peaceful and true

Dear God, it’s me, lonesome
The only friends you give to me
End up leaving shortafter
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, anxious
You tell me everything that could go wrong
And tighten my chest, make my breathing unsteady
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, depressed
You give me so many good things
But even more to ruin my happiness
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, Reagan
I can’t figure out what I did
To make you want to throw the worst my way
Please tell me, what did I do?