I fall off a chair,

      light the filter,

      set fire to my hair.

      Every time I try to be cool,

      I miss the last stair.

      There are people who like me.

      I wish I was one of them,

      but every time I try to be cool

      the spaghetti hangs out of my mouth;

      I drool.

      I dine, my elbow finds the wine.

      I'd kill myself

      but I'd still be myself,

      sticking my mouth in my foot

      somewhere else,

      missing the waste basket,

      putting my coat on like a straight jacket -

      Self-hatred is so self-indulgent.

      I hate myself for hating myself,

      but every time I try to be cool

      I spray roach spray on my hair.