Myth of an old race.

Hard to find the words, lured into despair to satisfy the humor the gods.
They laugh, as I pick myself up again from the soul stained pavement.
what resembles hope in the distance is but a mere silhouette  of what should have been.
daily I'm taunted, from all directions, there is no silver lining in this torn and worn fabric.
a plea for help, a scream for a savior, A thought pattern believed to be obsolete lingers within.
ousted by a class above my own, where superstars and supermodels roam.
materialistic beings seek materialistic things, seek materialistic lives full objects of no meanings.
can you put a price tag on a genuine man. do you even know what a real man is supposed to be.
do you remember what you truly seek, love, life, happiness. do those words ring a bell.
claimed to be the crazies, but we are only crazy for you. the legitimately crazy ones are you, and you.
looking forward to my death because I can't change who I am today.
I'll laugh from the afterlife, for all of the good men have faded away
and all that's left are stereotypical beings, seeking materialistic things, seeking psychotic lives in a world of pointless existence.