From the Interior

Sometimes, he (I) feel(s) like a lobster, inside a shell thats a little too big for him (me)

Looking out through a skull inside a skull inside a skull

Like waiting in an abandoned building

Peering out through dusty window panes that become his (my) eyes

Echoing around the room a voice keeps talking

Saying things with his (my) teeth with words that he's (I'm) not sure are his (mine)

Looking in he (I) stare(s) at his (my) weird little (self)

Looking out he (I) wonder(s) who is at the controls and if everyone realizes they are fumbling in the dark

These are the days he (I) flip(s) his (my) brain around backwards and his (my) left (right) hand takes control