we of those red, sunken eye
barely, rarely making it
limping, crawling through life.
     we whose language is lies
always oblivious, unaware, and ignorant
to anything that concerns
anyone else but ourselves.
     we who rot and decay as the passing of the days
trapped in a messed web of envy, jealousy
we don't have to be excellent or brilliant
we just have to be better than others.
     we who live for death:
to preys on the rest
so that they may transform, conform
to the dull, monotonous norm.
     we who are hardly living,
not dead
but not alive.