I was feeling a few somethings tonight although truth be told, it has been bugging me since early this afternoon. I wrote this as...poetry, i guess? And then it became a rap in my head. I'm not sure if this is all there is.
Tell me honestly
Would you have liked me more if i were him
Or her, or they, would you still complain
About our clash of personality because truthfully
Can't say i'm sure this is really me
I see what i see then i copy
Their mind and tongue, it's not a blast
But who ever said that it would be fun?
But is this it? Am i finally done?
Can i lose the act and let the real deal come?
But which is fiction and which is not?
I can't tell anymore and it's all my fault
Originality
Did it lose its way in this insanity
This insanity that grants me peace
But only when i play the keys
To the right song, at the right time
Well at times my hands can feel so tight
Like it's handcuffed, fingers numb as fuck
And the only blood that i feel flowing
Is from the hole in my chest which you put there, see?
Shape-shifts used to be a makeshift coping device
Lately it's just confusing like, which skin am i even using?
I lost me in myself, i'm stuck like super glue in this cell
But is this prison really mine
Or is it someone else's version of hell
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