My default is perfect That is not to say I always achieve In fact often times it is quite murky; meek

A certain freedom then In deliberately striving for flat When routinely it is nothing like… a comrade.

being biggest, best Is quite the series of rigged, competitive jests It assumes there are those below And in the subsequent array of buffoons Pitted against people like pieces in chess

There are no comrades in chess Winners and losers, yep I guessed, if power plays and parading prancing arrays Is your kind of day
Hurray?

No one is bothered to tell you however That no matter how hard you try there will always be another; gooder Better, Perfecter, completing the trifecta

Like spritz of vibrant perfume, In dull empty room An itch that cannot be satiated Or fully scratched How bloody annoying is that?