Pisaries Creator

A person once said
The best of the best
Is what makes
People want more
In life than the days
Given to them
On a dull platter, 
And yet in the end
Nothing matters
Quite as much as those
Things you can't put
Into various sized containers
Or glass jars if you're lucky,
But this is a delusion
To think about
When the people 
Around you crumble
From young stupidity
And old frailty,
From the likes of deadly 
Gasses and guns
We carry around
As if they have money
Inserted into both,
Sometimes our wallets
And purses walk away
On crippled legs
And half-grown arms
Knowing and remembering
What made us fail
The sounds that made
Our mouths go dry
And realize we weren't
As unique as once thought,
The pride before the 
Long descent down
The cuts we feel
As we crash into 
The discarded stars,
Eventually we pick
At the scabs
Not wanting to see
The scars
But they are visible
For everyone
And forcing us 
To realize we are
Still falling behind
With no amount 
Of speed to help,
We haven't done 
Our best but our worst
In the hardest of circumstances,
That makes us question
the stage we stand
and those watching us
And still time 
Churns like butter
Tasty and salty
But nothing like
Fate would bring.