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I don’t make a good enough impression; I shape my face with a stone wall. I grasp at the wrong straws and I close the wrong eyes. You smile at all. I wear the wrong skin, you kiss me the wrong way. My inner organs don’t protest loud enough when I sign each of them away, my last will and testament is filled with trite meaninglets. I’m in a bad place, the wrong place. I vote for the wrong man, I laugh at the wrong jokes. They come and pick me apart, I hope someone I would remember, remembers me.
