Vulture fingers,
Scour the flesh.
Picking out flaws,
Not seeing the best.

Picking at the surface,
Finds everything wrong.
Won't look deeper,
Doesn't want to stay that long.

Scavenges through the skin,
Making blood gush out.
Tears in his eyes,
Mind full of doubt.

Who can love roadkill,
Picked to the bone?
Flies in his insides,
Making their new home.

Maggots in the eyelids,
Rotting to the brain.
Picked himself to pieces,
"We knew he was insane."

Vulture fingers devour,
Every single flaw.
Leaving a mutilated and infested corpse,
"Perfection" is what it's called.