How do I talk to youYour eyes are deadAnd your face is in the waySuffocating even meYour friend is niceBut your bloated faceIs still asking meIllegal questionsHow can I ignore youYour zombie eyes are aimed at meAnd your puffed up smileNever drops for a momentMaybe it’s a strategyTo make me feel insecureWhile I’m begging for the jobIs that it??You think your oozing victoryTriumph seeping throughInstead it’s comedy out your poresTragedy out of your musclesSeem to bе losing my mysteryLast crumbs of my charmAss shaking, panic settling inIf only I werе in a discoYour face will soon be historyOnly a memoryNever have to see you againUnless I actually got the job
