Only Perfection Can Save Us

There’s a cemetery under my house where I’ve buried all the old versions of me that didn’t work out, abandoning them in the damp darkness that would otherwise gnaw me to the bone. Every time I split in two, the older one gets dragged down to join the others. Most of them don’t fight. They understand why this has to happen. They know what they did. Some insist that they’re misunderstood or merely unlucky. In the end it doesn’t matter. They failed. And if one of us is going to make it, then they’re going to have to be ruthless.