How do you know who you are? What you are? Do you not feel
the gaping hole where something used to be?

Is this something that you learn over time? Time, I’m running out of?
As I’m drained, needle by needle;
and my compounding pain
leaves me with a sense of impending doom?

Everyone seems to have their sense of style
--
sense of self
--

and I copy
and paste; simply mimicking.

One day my peers will unwrap me
and throw tantrums over the empty box.