I feel tired all the time. Like there's something missing that I'll never find.
I can start the sentence, but never finish the rhyme.
My mind is dry & water won't satisfy.
This place I'm in tells me nothing of who I am or who I used to be.
Blank walls, empty pages, not a stroke of a brush or pictures that I've created.
I am not who I am. I am not me.
I am the person that remains where I used to be.

Where are the tears, my passion, my rage?
Where is my imagination, my ambition, my brain?

I can't live like this, this is not how it's meant to be.
I can't dream like this, in these thoughts, this reality.

I want to be big, but I'm afraid to grow.
I want to soar high, but I'm afraid of flyin'.
I want to be free, but I'm afraid of what that would do to me.
I simply want to be...

c.o.m.p.l.e.t.e

Like a sentence or a word, or a paragraph in an essay.
I want to be the dot at the end of every little sentence.
Working its position, it signifies completion.

Incomplete. A fragment of who I used to be.
A puzzle too difficult to put together.
Or a broken chip lying on the floor.
You see, it's just like me.
And I don't want it to be.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?
Is it the mentality I once claimed?
One thing remains, reminding me that I am still sane.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I just don't recall ever being this lonely.

Incomplete. A fragment of who I used to be.
A person that has no name. A swan in the lake, alone without a mate.
You see, its just like me, and I don't want it to be.