The drop of rain slides across the glass
it's uncertainty of direction as strong as brass.
With every path in which my friends walk
I seem to fade into the opposite side of talk.
The gossip that used to be spread by my words
has transported itself along to the herds.
The people who whisper glare through my skin
making me want to grow out of my sin.
Yet still I find my way to walk with pride,
my will to stay alive shall bide.
The question of whether I deserve it is unanswered.
It might always be.