Incomplete

A little something is missing.

And it makes all the difference.

And I don't know, don't know if I'll ever find that missing piece.

Sometimes it hurts. Most of the time it hurts. But I carry on. That's all there is to it.

I'm 18 years old.

And I'm not accomplishing much. But it's okay. I just keep holding on.

But a little something, it's missing.

And at night, I cry because I feel empty.

And some days I look out the window and I get this knot in my throat.

It's the constant reminder, that I'm not yet complete, that I feel empty.

I am ready to get out of this place.

But what I really wish is that I could get out of this soul, because although I am moving away, I am forced to carry with the real problem, myself.