False

To say that any single being is perfect is a lie
A false truth that we believe is true
Nothing ever will be perfect
These empty pages within this book
Are slowly just longing for a writer

Someone to fill its pages with hope
With joy,
With amazement
If you have ever wondered is the need still there
It faded away like worn out crayons

For as you see this book is no longer there
It has been sealed once again
Chained together so no one can ever rip pages out
So no one can ridicule and laugh
This is what will be said

The key never to be found again
To be thrown into the very depths of the deepest of oceans
For it to lay for all eternity
And if it may be found
Do not open this book

Because to open up faded scars
To relive that very pain in the soul
Is just mortifying
No longer just peachy or keen
Just surviving until the pain wears away