The "Presence-less Type" / Styrofoam wrap

I am the overrated average,
not as average as the,
suicidal friend of mine
living off of pills, fighting
demons within, daring to hope,
for a paradise that I know
doesn't exist.
 
I am like this poem, perhaps?
carefully callous, ten times unedited,  
and most definitely-definitely crude.
Ummm....I am...?
 
Just another common attention whore,
it's OK I think. I know.
Although these days for "no reason"
and "just because.",
I seem to want it even more.
 
I am common and abundant,
like the polluted air
of the metropolis we take for granted
that we breathe in
counting our blessings.  
Or more like the stench  
of burnt lungs
that keeps many fears at bay,
or so they say,  
comforting themselves..
 
If life were a cardboard box
and people within, ball bearings
for some enormous gadget.
 
I would't be the perfect misfit.
A red in a set of blue.
Neither would I be
the perfectly polished one
so flawless that it's absurd,
 
I'd be the one not noticeably rusted,
functional even with a few dents  
probably 3rd position from the left  
of the 4th row from the front.
Not quite on the edge but  
definitely not in the middle.
 
I am the one noticed for absence in
nostalgic old high school photos  
with perfect smiles or awkward gestures.
 
I was & still am
the one referred to as -
"That guy...umm what's-his-name?"
 
The "presence-less type" someone called me
behind my back, caring not that I can hear
but perhaps they didn't even know I was there.
 
I like shadows but
I'm not hiding,
nor am I afraid.
I don't see a point
being an average part of
another "unique" parade.