O life, My life!
Filled with regrets yet so fine,
What started as a pass time,
Turned into a future mine.
The warmth turned into something fine,
The chaos wrapped in pure vine.
The lines so shaky, no intention,
Slowly turned, to perfection.
Was this really the true intention,
Or was this the pressure of the situation?
To perfection is the society's perception,
Wrapped in the choas of addiction.
To live life is to create your own way
Be it perfect, be it broken,
To live life is to love and admire,
Not the perfection, but the imagination.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 5:55 PM UTC
O life, My life!
Filled with regrets yet so fine,
What started as a pass time,
Turned into a future mine.
The warmth turned into something fine,
The chaos wrapped in pure vine.
The lines so shaky, no intention,
Slowly turned, to perfection.
Was this really the true intention,
Or was this the pressure of the situation?
To perfection is the society's perception,
Wrapped in the choas of addiction.
To live life is to create your own way
Be it perfect, be it broken,
To live life is to love and admire,
Not the perfection, but the imagination.
Always wanted to be an artist, when finally i am one, why am I still letting the society's opinion matter? Is this how we are supposed to live? When did the shaky lines get so perfected that we forgot to enjoy the process?