Perfect

I washed away something essential, and by turning my body into a self destructive machine, I won. I reached out and grabbed perfection by the arm. She told me it takes more than that, she said that the price to pay for its possession is high, almost unthinkable, and that only the strongest, only the weakest, are willing; but that the surrender grants salvation. I paid that price; I went half way and watched my life transform itself. Now I am more beautiful, and with great beauty leaves great responsibility, but there is yet miles to go and the stakes keep getting higher. Perfection demands more, she grips at me and gives me a taste of an alternative future, but the future is never granted to us on a silver plate. We have to play and play dirty to taste its juice. She calls to me in a serpent like manner, merciless, ghostly, never satisfied. She pulls at me, and the voices take over. I find myself torn, I know the strength is there, I know the limitless weakness that breaks the wall is right inside of me, and all it takes is one single 'no' to make the deal. I understand the implications completely, and my sick body reminds me of the hardships to endure, the betrayal I am committing by being loyal to the wrong queen. But what scares us most is what we call to, tragedy enchants me and I reach out to grab it. The promise of tomorrow is interlinked with tragedy, one will not come without the other, and as I feel the pain near my heart, in my stomach, in my head, I surrender. Perfection, you are now my queen, and I serve to you as your most loyal soldier.