When your body shoots an earthquake through mine
You ask if I have daddy problems
I guess I am weaker than what you are used to
I have been the trigger on this gun
Playing Russian roulette with my own mind
Trying to keep a steady hand
But holding on so tightly
That the muscles in my wrist are plucked out
One by one, like strings on a guitar
See, you are used to *******
Pretty girls with scars carved on their chests
Not on their faces
Either way
It is wood all the same.
I don't answer your question
I merely make my body stiffer
Fearful that my own instincts
Might burn a hole in your skin
I have no safety on what I went through when I was younger
Between the bullets of my father's mistakes
And the abundant ammunition of the taste
Of my older cousin's skin
My body is now my weapon of choice
After being someone else's hostage
**** me back into your favorite position
And I will fire
Isn't it funny how my body becomes a gun again?
I work perfectly
Until the recoil knocks me to my knees
Before somebody new
I never knew shooting myself could make me numb
I always felt everything
Do I feel alive again?
I seem to keep missing my target
So I start to rethink my mission
What am I shooting for?