What I wear...

I am wearing the flesh of someone else. I have decided that who ever or what ever I am is not defined by the way I look or what dies when I am stabbed to death in Detroit. I am wearing the flesh of my father but I have the remains of 10,000 men lurking inside of me. I feel like I have a giant sleeping inside of me. Just waiting to wake up and do what ever its intended to do. I look in the mirror and I do not see me I see what I am wearing. I feel like some dressed my soul in meat and has been trying to control it. I am slowly sniping the the strings of the marionette and being give control and I feel excited and dragged down by it. I imagine this is how a rat would feel if it was put into a race in a maze with 5 billion other rats and one was selected and given a way to walk through the walls that hold all the rest. The only catch is, that rat has to finish the race from beginning to end. Think about that for as long as it takes to get what I am trying to say. Everything I have wanted are things I feel like I have already had before. I have no real desires other then the passions to find out what is going on inside. Everyone is someone else's entertainment. Who am I amusing?