I have become a mirror. Reflecting the smiles of others. No thought is my own. Only a mesh of arms that helped me up or held me down. Essays traded for certificates. All science or established old philosophies. I pilfer inner peace from the Buddhists. I map my memories by the names of streets. I eat my food from the production lines. Maybe I should invent my own language. Maybe then I will say things differently. I will only draw in the dirt. Avoid the arrogance of permanence. I would only lose out to the weeds and meteorites in any case. It has been two decades of a borrowed self. Whatever was mine has been stolen long ago.