People say I'm exceptional, Talents that go up to nationals. But was it ever as true as they say? Or was I just putting a facade each day. Thoughts linger, and regret stays, Like a bloodstain refusing to fade away. I am like a puppet with no life, Controlled of those consumed by strife. The strife, the same hands of mine, Clinging onto self-loath like a lifeline. Maybe then, will I realize, I will never be real no matter how hard I try.