Who Am I?

So what am I now; the leftover, ashy remains of a cremated lover? The piece of a candle wick that will no longer catch the flame of a burnt down match, or the balmy wax slipping between your fingertips? Am I freshly laundered sheets you bury your aging face under, or the blanket of security you hide behind? Am I the worn down tires skidding against damp asphalt? Am I the sound of a kettle crying, or sugar liquidating into stifling cup of tea? Am I your pupil or your iris? Do you see me in a kaleidoscope of colors, or the lack of light? Am I the rupturing follicles of ringlets kissing your neck, or am I your fresh roots sprouting? Am I the musical playing at the stroke of midnight, or simply the ticking of the minutes? Am I the pistol your tremulous paw is clenching, or the bullet ricocheting into your gaping mouth? Am I your mind's logic, or your heart's chaos?