Can anyone see me?

Maybe I'm just a character in someone else's dream.

For proof, you sit on a tree stump, and tie tin cans to a string, and hope the wind will blow them and make some kind of noise.

The only problem is that it only lasts a minute, and once it stops, you're not even sure you heard it in the first place.

Face it, it's my destiny to be flipped, ripped, copied, and at times completely overlooked.

I'm flat and without life.

The thought sickens you so much you can't take it anymore until you snarl so hard and turn away so fast you don't even realize you're looking into a mirror.