You

Old poem, about an old friend.

Tall, you walk squarely
A mechanical frame covered
By the sickest skin.
You move to please yourself.

You carry things that are not yours,
Imposed upon you by others.
I do not believe you adopted them
In a fruitless attempt to please yourself.

You feign interest with
The weakest of smiles.
You would stretch yourself for a million miles
For almost anyone, to please yourself.

And a person is not a person,
A friend is not a friend.
Your only interest is numbers,
Endless counting to please yourself.

So walk like you belong.
So dress up like a clown.
So re-count your acquaintances again.
So smile and twist and warp and bend
And please, please remember when I told you:

You are a product of human interaction.
You are not your own cell.