a humorous poem on identity

the title is a wip

there are no thoughts in this head
my boots are donated, i donate my flesh
i can't wonder if i'm missing something
i gave away my held out hands
 
last night i dreamt i killed a man
we traded faces, my tooth was chipped
he asked if something was missing
he had boots on, a twitch on his lip
 
a loaded-prop question, a violent sentence
i wore leather boots once,
there aren't boots on my head
do i walk on my hands
 
there's nothing missing if i gave it away
 
i had boots once, i once gave away my head
i was a person once, gone are the words i had
a blankened vestige, i give what i can
but i miss my boots, i want to stand out instead
 
a mistake in question, missing my flesh
misreading the lesson, i dreamt i killed a man
over a pair of boots, stomped out of a cortex
accidentally trashing what's left
 
there are no thoughts in this head
i wore boots once, i wanted his then
with a semblance of cognition
i couldn't wear boots without hands