by Sycamore Smith

Am I a snake-skin tire on a Cadillac?
Or a bloody finger pointing down the drain?
Am I a diamondback following the lion tracks?
Or a lech who longs to pet you on the train?
Who knows? Who knows?
I could be drawing a cock on a rose
Or inhaling a ghost through a hose
Or feeding a handful of crumbs to the crows
Or feeding crumbs to myself, i suppose
I mean, who knows? I mean, who knows?
I mean, who really, really knows?
Am I a bootlegger up to his shins in gin?
Or a hook hand hanging on a peg?
Am I the kid who splits when the bottle spins?
Or a champion drinker of the dregs?
Am I an acrobatic anarchist flipping off a cop?
Or a satanist dating a saint?
Am I a gigolo soda jerk who makes a cherry pop?
I think I am, but i also think I ain't...