Perfection Is the Blank Page

Welcome to my house
An essence of thoughts
Just like a painting
Waiting to be created

Returning to a familiar place
Sharp colors shine clear
Not like the emptiness inside
Beyond day and night

Then I come to realize
The more you have
The greater the flaws
Each stain another imbalance

When the page is empty
There is something left
When the page is filled
You might as well be dead