Perfection At Its FinestA Poem by ashleydawn
I'm a perfected mess
refined in such a way that its almost beauty. Simplicity at its finest, I dance along the path, anticipating the turns before they show and although fearing the end constantly I blissfully prance through every experience. The routine, almost mundane with its constant occurance.
© 2011 ashleydawn |
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Added on August 16, 2011 Last Updated on August 16, 2011 |