I have dreams of bright lights in my face
And a brief smile in the dark behind my eyes;
A heralded savior to the human race
And no one knows the lies.

But are they really dreams, even though I sleep
Or nightmares in sheep's clothing
Making my own resolve weak?

Lauded with perfection,
My Hell makes me seem pretentious;
No more success to hold in future recollection!

I seem so selfish when you hear
That I don't want these "blessings"
That make me a misfit near.

They mean so little now
That I can read and write and listen
And talk about the whys and hows

Because I can't use them to any ends or means
I can't do much of anything these days-
Most times I can hardly force myself to breathe.

And it's so difficult to make yourself a necessity
When you don't have the energy to communicate
In anything but vague perplexities.

So tell me my potential
And tell me that I'm great
Because I am determined to become inconsequential.

Roll the credits, fade to black
Because although you think I've got greatness coming
I know exactly what I lack.