Your Perfection

I've seen it repeated Over in time. How can perfection be so flawed? Grace turned grim, Though in your prime, I've assuredly experienced all. Its presence an everlasting notion, Never escapes my upper confines. It's trapped within, Yet so am I. Bound together we reside. It deforms my consciousness, Strangling my inner peace, Slowly coiling tighter. When can I rest, When all Incan hear Is your perfection berating my being? And tighter it gets. Juicing my joy drier and drier, Until it's gone. I can feel it, As I can't. But I'm here; This can't be. Never happened? Possibly. Perfection fares impossible, So the true perpetrator Must be me. I'm free, I feel it, as I can. Not. Alas, an illusion caught wind. Such a vision felt right as death Clings to one's shoulders. Your perfection a parasite, Gouges my hope; Tramples my pathetic benevolence. For I've been gone Since you constricted me, Hanging on by Your praise, Which be rare, Yet breathes life through my body. But now, You've won. Your standards barely met, I slink off to die.