Odd man out

I have been the odd man out before. The deterioration begins in the pit of your stomach, while the rest of your insides begin to palpitate as you begin to question what exactly is wrong with you. I suppose if you have a slight tinge of moral fiber floating around that particular day, night, 3 am interruption, you will come to the conclusion that there is nothing, but such conclusion doesn't stop the disease. And while those labels we like to toss around and throw away and synthesize every time we get to push our kumbaya agenda, seem to be slowly deteriorating, that is not true it is only your stomach, growling less and less.

I have been the odd man out before. My stomach has been deteriorating. My insides create a stream vibration. And people have told me that my label doesn't exist, it does. Stitched at the cerebral cortex, so that you might have justification as to why you are accusing me of doing this, saying that, stealing a few petty t-shirts from your tacky collection of clothes.

I am the odd man out. Can you hear me struggle?