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?