Scattered pieces of flaws
Stitched together in perfection
Everywhere
Just beautiful
All these of good intentions
Why do we not see these all the time?
Why can't it be just the good days?
Why can't we be still?
Why do we turn things vain?
Are we seeing soreal?
Tell me this is nothing in a manuscript
Tell me we're not actors of our own movies
Lest t'was a hopeless love
It frightens me
*Tell me it was real
I wrote this to God almost a year ago. It was something intrapersonal. Then I realized it could also be interpreted as something further.