character analysis

Everything's "perfect" but nothing works in a perfect world. Well, it does but only like it's supposed to. 

That's boring, that's
habit.
Nothing is born out of habit 
until
something breaks it.

Until a change occurs.

everyone who strives for "perfect" is content & dies
because they have nothing more to live for.

but those who live for something more.
are the ones who make a difference 
without even meaning to.
(which means the most of all)
not meaning too.
because the result is 
organic,
self-less (to a degree)
and unplanned. 

Art doesn't develop from plan. That's called lack of imagination.

Art is born in the pulse, travels to the heart & released through the body after being filtered of (too much) thought. 

Organized thought anyway.

Machines don't have a pulse,
Machines don't have a heart.
& their "body" cannot feel
pleasure or pain.
They are completely unaware
of the beauty & despair
that surrounds them.

All they are. are plans.
Organized. Yielded.
They do the same thing. Everyday.
& then they have their check up
every 6 months. Maybe an upgrade?
But what's an upgrade from that kind of life?
or lack there of. 

Perfect is empty. Nothing. Dark. Lonely. 
kept in alphabectical order in boxes covering genius splatters of paint. 
I want nothing to do with perfect.
I've turned the boxes on their sides, 
shredded into confetti & 
spread it across the sky 
in hopes
that someone catches enough pieces 
to put together
a fraction of 
my dreams.