I have nothing to say,
So I no longer think before I speak,
Everything drips out before I can calculate.

"How does one act?" I wish to ask,
But I know I'll start another predicament,
I no longer want to be told, "Something is wrong,"
Because I know something is missing.

I'm not tired anymore, but I still feel half full, or is it half empty?
Laughing has come more easily, but I wonder if its still fake.

"I am better," I think how ironic that is, because its not entirely a lie,
But its not true either because something has been misplaced.

I wish to ask my friends, who am I?
But that may confuse them,
So I shall never ask my questions.

I know that a piece of who I am is gone,
But I have no clue where to start the search,
So I'll keep going, never being fully complete,
You never know maybe I'll be fine in the end.