Here and there are pieces flying by --
Fragments of a past I never wanted.
Pain that sears my soul, still I cannot cry,
Despite the mem'ries with which I'm haunted.
Then and now and here and there are just mush,
A maelstrom raging deep within my soul.
The race to heal makes me feel in a rush,
And yet my heart is still so full of holes.
Particles of past and present now fuse
To create some freakish thing I call "me."
But after all the torture and abuse,
I have no clue who I'm supposed to be.
Is there a blueprint somewhere for a "self,"
Or must I put my questions on a shelf?
Fragments of a past I never wanted.
Pain that sears my soul, still I cannot cry,
Despite the mem'ries with which I'm haunted.
Then and now and here and there are just mush,
A maelstrom raging deep within my soul.
The race to heal makes me feel in a rush,
And yet my heart is still so full of holes.
Particles of past and present now fuse
To create some freakish thing I call "me."
But after all the torture and abuse,
I have no clue who I'm supposed to be.
Is there a blueprint somewhere for a "self,"
Or must I put my questions on a shelf?
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