Melolagnia

Stop screaming out your New York hopes and dreams, I'm sorry to say that you're stuck here. There's no escape. The same restraints that have me tied down are keeping you here. Trust me, I wanted to get out too. I wanted to find a better place for my personality. I took the advice of people I have never known or will ever know and I started to notice things that no one else cared to dedicate a thought to. If you really think you'll really make it, go ahead. Run. Runaway. See how far you'll go. I want to see you kick your heels up and head for the hills. Next you'll be wishing that you were back here. Where is the future when you need it? It's gone now. No hard feelings, but it seems that there were no feelings to begin with. You want a more explosive life, I think I want you out of mine.

It's sad what I do when I'm alone and without you. I sit around and I mope. I cry. I sit and wish that you didn't have to run away. I still play the mix CD that we made the summer before you ran away. I never want to get out of bed. Where are you now? Did you make it? How far did you get before your legs gave out?

I wish I was the one that could make you smile. The one that made you answer slyly to questions regarding relations. That one that made you think about what you were going to wear to school that day, though it wouldn't matter what, not that I don't care. "Keep your head up soldier", they told me. "Don't look down", they told me.
They called me confident
They called me insecure
The case has been closed, but I'm still thinking about her

So where am I now?

I know I'm not a savior. I have a staple in my heart that means nothing. I have notes that mean nothing. I have short stories that mean nothing. I have the urge to finish off strong, only to blow it off in the end. I strive for the rock opera rather than the street cred, which limits me. I've become a hypocrite, a hater of haters. A phony, a fake. No better than a wax figure.

Identity crisis from an unknown agent, where am I?

Who am I?