My neurons are sliced right through the middle.
Connections scatter in desperation;

Half of who I am,
Half of what I say,
Even the food I ate-

A gift to my intellect, you remain.
The brain that now seems so far away-
You leave me half-witted.

You take the me out of what I used to be
My conciousness is riddled
With flash photographs of yours.

I'm sorting through the carnage
What half is mine?
What half am I?