I walk into a room, invent myself again.
The old me, cast aside, wonders what was his sin.
He'll stand there for a moment, like the kid who wasn't picked.
A closely concealed quiver, on the newly freed me's lip.
But soon he'll find the others, who didn't make the grade.
All perfect life sized replicas of the changes that I've made.
They'll tell him of their plan to take my body back.
They try to get ahead of me so they can lay their trap.
They hide as I approach, as one they hold their breath.
But I reinvent myself again, and a copy's all they get.