Beautiful work as always. I love your last lines "For all blind eyes to see". Perfection can kill...it's a deadly thing...

Excellent poem on the imperfection of seeming perfect. My only critique is that you put an s in stead of an f in of "The patron saint/ Os perfection".

I also have written of Prefection; I used the stars as a comparison, but I think this turned out better than mine. It's much more biting, defiantly painful, almost like a confession. It is so truthful. Wonderful piece.

This strikes a number of notes. For one, I think it takes what I wrote and redoes it but better. Also, it holds hints of your own life, and your own self-fulfilled perfection that carved out your imperfections through masochism and left the empty space. What was that quote you gave me once?: "You may make your own Fate, by I make my own perfection." How has that played out? Perfection is within the countless imperfections, Fate has been made only once control was surrendered. When I think of a circle, though, I think of your eyes, not your heart or waistline. Love, Your Slave and Master, Immortal Nyght

Simple, yet effective! Keep writing!

~Anna~