They were the creators of
                        every singular
                                        beat.

Manifesting every emotion,
           that came through,
Chipping away at the rough
                                    edges.

And making a thing of beauty,
          carved out of life's creation.

But mine wasn't perfection,
                        mine was chipped
at the corner.
                  

Irregular fulfilment that with every
               smile cracked beneath its mosaic
                                                           precision.

I never cared about tomorrow, nothing is perfect.
              Although it may falter to the point
                                                       of ruination.

We'll keep it together as long as possible