Am I warding off the ghost that lives under the stairs?
Could I be the one or does that even matter?
You say it is the former but it sure feels like the latter
Am I the warm body that sleeps in his place?
Am I the destination or a convenient escape?
Am I the relief for a fever I can't break?
No I'm me, and I'm real, and I'm not a mistake
God I want to blame you but I know all too well
The hole under my queen-size bed that spiraled down to hell
When I came back up I didn't recognize my face
But I'm me, and I'm real, and I'm not a mistake
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