Perfect.
Let it be pristine. Let it be precise.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

I clutch at my hair and tug, hoping that I won't-

glitch.

Please, please, please don't look at my malfunction.

Polished pasts. Pristine presents.
"Say, what do you lack?
What will fill in the hole and revamp you into your ideal self?
What can make you perfect?"

A lump forms at the back of my throat. Did they see? Do they see me freeze? Is that why they think I'm not my ideal self? But who other than me- me in this shattered present- would be able to maneuver through the shards and not cast a second glance at the cuts?

"Tell us, tell us! Which of your roots is most rotten? Which would you cut off to grow the most lush of fruits?"

Images of purple trees, maroon skies, sweet nectar of pain, and regretful Novembers flood my mind.I shan't think of it- my debt to madness. Yet-yet would I relinquish it if I could? Would I burn the memory of my knees colliding with the foot of madness's throne in the fires of mind?

Never.
I hold no power over the flames that mar my life, yet I will stand guardian at the gate of the memories blessed to me by the curse of Pandemonium's court. I will stand guard and never will I let even a lick of flames to touch them.

Perfect.
Let it be pristine. Let it be precise.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Perfection- who has achieved such a thing?

But only the flawless are truly flawed.
Yet only with my masochism can I stand.
And when they say they're perfect, know they're vulnerable,
for the essence of vulnerability blooms only when one claims to know no such thing.
So I'll gaze into the eyes of indifference and I'll provoke it-

for only with my

glitch

glitch

glitch

do I survive the blue screens
and only when I howled a howl of a full moon under a moonless sky-

only then did hysteria- the messenger of Madness- find me.

I- I have glimpsed the legend that is perfection but never have I gazed into its eyes,
for Madness watches from all around.

After all, why chose the fragility of perfection
when a world of calamity awaits?

___

Yeah, you don't know what you just read. That's fine, really because-

I don't know what I just wrote.

I had this done in ten minutes since I had no more time- I am a professional procrastinator. Be jealous, y'all. I'm so exhausted I can't even cry over this right now.

The prompt was 'your definition of perfect.'