I'm not the best.
I'm like the rest.

I take a single final breath.
I inhale and exhale hell that's held within.

Try, I try to not let them win.
But they push so strong.
I'm always wrong.

So they say that I'm a pointless object.
They say that I'm just a project of.
Something that needed to be discovered.

Stuck in the dirt, dug up.
And uncovered.

Something special like a diamond.
Something rare like a four leaf clover.
Something that I should have told her.
Times passing, I'm getting older.
The rigid air is freezing, temperature gets much colder.

But then I remember that I'm not the best.
I'm like the rest.

I play the same games.
I do the same things.
I go to the same places.
But the places me nothing to me.

But I remember.
Time and time again.

I'm like the rest
I'm not the best.

Pretending is only pointless.
Society pushes for you and I to conform.
Unfamiliar faces began to swarm.

They swarm around the most average of them all.
They adapt and collect and knock down all the walls.

Society revolts throughout the air.
All I get are average, blank gazing stares.

I began to feel a presence all around.
When people begin to notice around the town.
All the people do is just tear me down.

And again.
I ask myself.
Why am I like the rest?
Then I remember it once again.
I am not the best.