What do you do,
When you spend every moment,
Feeling you should not be there.
That it's all a lie.
And if this be the truth,
You would rather die....
Than just be ordinary,
Just another being.
An existence, almost unnecessary.
Live as a certain crowd.
A presence. Temporary.
What did you do,
That ever made a difference?
Why even continue to exist,
If this is how it would end?
Blown away by time and wind,
A name, a bit of dust.
A fragment of someone's memory,
As long as that lasts,
And then gone
Like A receding wave,
There were countless before,
Would come, even more.
And what more did it do,
Than just touch the shore?
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