You’re my left writing

I hide under blanketing blankets
Waiting for boys to kick me
With their pointy toes
With their sharp toes
With their bruising toes

Who's the hurt one now
Look who can't feel their legs at night
Your limp from the waist down
Can't feel a thing
I'm a rusty rope, I'm a dirty rag
I'm a burnt table, a lit match
I'm a troubled salesman tryna' sell u me

I [?]
You are the [?]

Kids will grab the mic
I'm the devil
(x8)