Do you ever trace the grooves in your hand
Or follow the veins under your skin
Do you slightly sway whenever you stand
Or pick at the bumps on your chin

Is there a bone in your body that doesn't quite fit
Is there a pulse that you can never find
And your mouth's filled with glue rather than spit
Can you see the microbes in your eye

Are your teeth slightly crooked whenever you smile
Are your shoulders more wide than your hips
Is your build more of the disproportionate style
And is the skin chewed from off of your lips

Does your hair fall in clumps right on to the floor
Are your fingernails picked to the nub
Do you find concentrating as more of a chore
Can you also not stand tummy chub

Do the grooves in your mind tend to relapse instead
Of helping move on past the dread
And do you find sometimes you can not trust your own self,
Or control the bad thoughts in your head

Can you use a paintbrush to send thoughts dripping
Can you look at a canvas to see what is missing
Do you pluck strings like it's your hand's only need
Do the keys that you tap convey emotions that bleed
Have you made a connection between the role and yourself
Do you put your mind's miracles up on a shelf

Is the canvas, the stage, the music inside
Something that you could no longer hide

If you urge to make something out of feelings within
Grab a brush, instrument, audition, and simply begin

do you seriously think
you can determine your life

plan all your moves
avoid poisonous strife

reach all your goals
without devious grooves

by the time you have reached
those goals you have preached

you may be quite old
remembering how  bold
you were

and how coldly determined
on what you‘ve been sold

Do your hands move like the flame of a fire
Twitching and itching to possibly inquire
About the state that your mind has fled
About a fascination with being dead

Does your chest open up like a cave
Dripping cold, like a still-living grave
Can you shout inside and hear the echo
Is it your own voice telling you to let go

Do your legs hold you hostage from sleep
Do they move so your thoughts don't get deep
Or are they moving to make noise with the sheets
So your ears and midnight silence will never meet

Is your face more of a house but not a home
Something seeming foreign to what you've known
A room in which you sleep but isn't yours
Impossible to tell the ceiling from the floor

Does your heartbeat jump to conclusions just like mine
Or is it calm and slow and steady all the time
Does it leap into your head and cause a scene
Or is it glued to the cavern's walls without a dream