Self Inflicted

The sculpture I face.

Alas, it’s perfect.

Its lines are chiseled of my dreams,

Its lips are cast of the sweetest words,

And its eyes are the ones that watch me over.

Alas, it’s perfect. Yet I walk away.

I know no better; yet you gave me the World.

Your hands, which once rimmed my curves-

Now cold, personified in stone. This picturesque

Lonely statue.

Alas, stands in front of me. In agonizing perfection.

I skim along each line and carved bend, looking for

Imperfections. Yet there are none.

You stand, drawing me nearer.

You would hold me if I asked.

Stone, glossed to a reflective state. I see my face cast against it.

I gaze, lost in my own blue eyes, caught in the maze

Of their own dark shadows.

I see the imperfection.

Reflected on you, my love, and I walk away.

I know no better.