again,
i gave myself
how to repay myself?
i change pulse by the second,
mimicking sheer joy
while my mime sinks deeper
i speak,
but feel foreign—
each word rehearsed
to match this cosmic language
these people are aliens—
i would never, in my life,
even dare to shake their hand
for i know they will clench it
tight, turning my hand pale
and drag me to their spaceship,
full of brainless aliens
who fry their minds gently
to laugh at the same dead jokes—
all just to belong,
to keep their fragile synergy
"come on, it'll be fun"
but "fun" must be mistranslated
i nod,
and go,
and lose myself once more
i don't like the absurdity of clubbing, but some of my closest friends keep inviting me. i feel like i won't be able to maintain a healthy relationship with them if we bond over alcohol and drugs, instead of boardgames and walks like we used to.
