her back - what was straight like a line,
slowly curved, to form the curve of a crescent moon
from the attempt to hold up the weight on her shoulders

her eyes - what was filled with fire and sparkle,
slowly dulled, to only a dying ember
from the fatigue she tried so hard to conceal

her lips - what was always filled with wide smiles,
slowly changed, to only hollow laughters
from her lassitude yet the refusal to let people witness her crumble

slowly but surely,
she was turning into debris - she fell, broke and
crumbled
she tried to piece herself back together,
in hopes of attaining the old her once again

she tried countless times,
only to fall from a height higher, taller and
greater
realising that she's beyond repair
all because she sought for perfection and nothing less -
for everything including herself
she expected herself to be of utmost perfection -
without a single flaw
but she realised soon after,
that she was nothing but flaws

and so the deal is,
sometimes,
seeking perfection brings you to nowhere near it -
picture perfect, they say?