Rejection, failure, sympathy,
The cycle continues,
Endless.
Red agony spills out
From under my chest:
You make the moment seem so perfect.
I march along, a quiet soldier,
I practice nightly, to win affection.
Tell me, just what do you seek?
Perfection is not possible,
From a "failure" like me.
Am I experienced enough yet?
I've still got my sanity,
And my pride and dignity.
But is it enough?
Is that good enough for you?
Is the world perfect yet?
I trust it is not.
Nothing will ever be good enough,
Good enough for you.
But am I at least close?
I pose one last question:
Am I good enough yet?
