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The same.
I want to be different in a world of people who attempt the same,
I walk down the street feeling like a copy of others but with a different name,
To feel plagiarized because you're not the only one who is insane,
Everyone has their own demons that they blame,
But how can I live in a day where I know I'm not even close to being unique,
These hands have written pages full of ink only to be recycled,
To have another set of hands to sink metal into the sheet,
To rewrite my work to what they feel is complete,
It comes to the point to where I think my own thoughts aren't even mine,
To believe I could walk a line thinner than the ones on those pages,
Why live in a life of constant replication,
Though even if you end it all with the serrated edge of a knife ,
It's not anything anyone else hasn't done just to feel different and alive.
