A firecracker on my table top.

What do you think of when you look at me, if you look at me at all. I know it makes you uncomfortable somewhere in your weak areas, that I'm not what you thought I was. And what would you say to me, if you spoke to me at all. The words you imagined yourself using would somehow stick in your throat, and you'd choke. Choke from all your shallow judgements, unecessary opinions, battles not yours to fight. It will kill you, if it kills at all.

If it doesn't, well, my hands won't be dirtied by you. If they can be dirtied at all.

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I'm just a menace misinterpreted, only human. I'm only human. I'm over-thinking thoughts but I'm only human, made of flesh, made of sand, made of human.