Excuse me ma'am, do you know who I am?
No really, I'd like to know.
You see, I've been wondering,
Endlessly blundering,
Trying to reach a conclusion.
And it seems that theres been
Just a little confusion
Regarding the issue in question.
You see it has fallen
Upon my attention
That people are all in
Some form of contention
With others around them.
(No names I will mention)
And I just cant procure the
Resources to cope.
So when I have fallen
On hard times, I call on
My insight to fashion
For me a concealment
That mimics their passions
And copies their fashions.
And each passing minute
I waste away in it.
With each passing hour
My stomach turns sour,
As I try to uphold the charade.
Sometimes I grow tired
Of being so mired.
Forever displayed
In the endless parade
Of this foreign humanity.
Each day my sanity
Asks me incessantly
What is your name?
Who are you really?
Why does each day feel
Exactly the same as the last?
Just running in place
As the world marches past.
Just trying to be
Everything that you're not.
You've done it so long
That you simply forgot
Who you are.