There are sixteen messages on my answering machine

Human interaction, you know
I try not to do that anymore

Although I'm not trying much of anything lately
I'm not sure there's anything left to try

Everything I'm feeling has already been felt
Everyone I love has already been loved more

I don't know how to love someone anymore
I don't even know how to be someone anymore

People make my sense of self shake
People made my sense of self in the first place

There are splinters of humans in my consciousness
But mostly it's just me in here

And it's actually none of them on my message machine
Just a bunch of telemarketers
Selling me their souls for nineteen ninety nine

I forgot how silky apathy can be
Constricted around my waist
And laced up in the back of my mind

Always there, always far away
Until everyone's out of sight