Shower thought.

They say every man has two deaths well I've got just the one,

three on a match; I was the odd one out,

the ugly duckling from a batch of chicks,

I was always interned in this prison of my own design,

so when I die, only the me in flesh will rot and turn to dust,

my name was dead the moment my mind had rust

over with a million different neural connections none

of them fulfilled and so I've slowly come to realise

I wasted my life away in solitude, in isolation,

high on my mind's elation when I turned to daydreams,

waited for a steel beam to fall on me, crush me.