I live walking in a straight line
I belong to whoever's passing by
My stomach's empty, except when it's full
If I'm invaded I get strung up like a fool
There's some dynamite in my throat
I get nauseous if the spark touches my tongue
My knees are bruised from crashing into doors
My jaw's uneven, filled with alphabet soup
I look in the mirror, I see a ghost
I see a puppet with its strings on the floor
The balled up socks at the foot of my bed
The spot on the ceiling I keep my eyes locked on
What am I?
Am I me?
If I cut my pride,
will it bleed?
Did I just hit myself?
Am I the hand or am I the skin?
Sometimes I wish I didn't live here
I can lend this place out whenever you
need me to
Am I me?
Did you push my head down
Or did I bleed out onto the sink?
