How To Achieve Perfection

I am perfect.

I've been eaten by my own precision.
Shame sharpened teeth and
guilt ground gums
fed out from my crux.

I am perfect.
Damn you.

I’ve been sickened by my own altitude.
Pedestalled base jumping with
failed silk flags
spread out from my string.

Please.
Say I’m perfect.

I’ve been killed by my own finger.
Your evasive answer created
carnival explosions of
flung out flesh streamers and blood glitter.

I was perfect.
What else could you say now?