on the bad days [poem]

I pretend my way through every interaction
working my smile through muscle memory alone
each laugh feels like an echo
of the poorly recorded laugh track
from an old school sitcom
I struggle with small talk
as if I’ve forgotten the English language
leaving me to ask people to repeat themselves
almost every time they speak
I jerk myself out of thought spirals
the moment they start
but it still feels like I’m swirling down the drain
maybe the sewers are where I belong