I am Uncomplete.

I stare blankly ahead,

eyes not focused on what is in front of me,

But rather on a wish.

My hands are typing without me thinking

This really must be what i feel inside.

All around me is cold, in the inside too

My throat is filled with broken glass, and I can not even manage to speak

I try and try, but nothing seems to go right.

Throughout my years, i have not seemed to learn

I still get hurt.

Time just seems to lap over, when i want it to stay in one place.