Is there ever a greater melancholy
than permanent second?
Second best,
Second choice,
Second family.
All these things I am,
A second-hand human being.

No matter how hard and harder I try,
I remain inferior till I die.
A second-hand human being,
Not worth the greatest form of praising.

So as I stand above this bridge,
I recall all my 'almosts',
All my 'what ifs' and 'could haves',
To decide once and for all:
What if I jump a second time?