your medieval creation

the top of my head is scales
and there are
tiny people
playing beats
on my rib-bones

who are you
i ask them
they don't answer
because they can only beat
that beat
tap tap
bam bam

my fingernails are extended talons
and i am
constantly clipping them down
so i don't
hurt
anyone

what are you
they ask me
i don't answer
because i'm afraid i don't know
it was just how i was
made; mismatched pieces
of the past
all sewn
into one

my insides
are outside
strewn across the bed
on the floor
out the window
my insides
are not mine
nor is my head; my scales
my fingernails; my talons
i am not myself