what if i am not made to fit into this life?

what if my edges need sanding? my limbs shaved
down to white bone snow flakes
so i can fit
inside this square

people walk by talking on their phones wearing college
t-shirts with bowls of sickly colored cereal
people sit at tables and talk to each other about vodka and
not knowing where they are and how all nighters work at least
once out of every three times

and i wonder if i can melt into a puddle on the floor
slip down the edges of this cafeteria down to
the perfectly manicured bathroom below,
and slide down the drain
white tiles bright mirrors

slowly.