Perfectionist

I want a man
who never is alone—
who will talk to made-up friends,
call up strangers on the phone.
I want a man
whose soul is like the sun,
who will tell me tales of magic,
tales of deeds he's never done
who is strong and who is beautiful
in his mind
for anything he searches
he will find
from the magic lamp
to the Holy Grail
to the wind that blew out
of my broken sail,
who'll pick up the pieces
of my shattered heart,
convinced that the sun
has fallen apart
and these are its golden shards.

I want a man
who will look in my eyes,
seeking the lagoon
that's lying behind
the mist he sees there—
no hurt and no pain—
in his world he's never seen
a single hint of rain.
He isn't perfect,
he thinks he's a saint;
he thinks he's invincible,
damned if he ain't.
He lives in a dream
and he'll never awaken;
his eternal fantasy
will never be shaken.
His reality is a perfect lie,
one he'll never confess,
for he knows that I won't accept
anything less

Than perfection.

There is no reality,
only perception,
so if what he perceives
is all make-believe
well I guess it's as real
as the next one.

Author's Notes: Not sure what to say about this one. ^^; It was kind of a fantasy-type thing, not really being centered around the man but the things he perceives the world to be. I heard Dr. Phil say "there is no reality, only perception" and this is what sprang from it, basically. ^_^; I think it kinda reflects that I was very sick of the real world when I wrote this. Not to mention I was having the ever-popular angsty night and had listened to "Building a Mystery" (Sarah McLaughlin...?) one too many times that day/week. Eheh. Yeah. So...you figure it out. XD And if you do, drop me a line at ridiculosity@hotmail.com, and don't forget to review me! XD ;) Thanks a lot! ~Mistress Jakira
Date of Composition: October 17th, 2002; 11:45 p.m.