I wonder if there is a piece of me left whole.
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A part of me that doesn't have
At least a tiny chip or crack.
Not large enough to alter the form,
Just slightly change the function.
It seems that every bit of me
Has been corrupted on some level.
I feel that there is a thin line
Between what I was and what I am,
But a division nonetheless.
The thread between them is tenuous, fragile
And I am afraid that it will break away.
Every piece of me is changed
Like a computer with a bad program,
Every cell infiltrated.
Healthy doesn't seem close enough.
I feel like a broken version of myself
And I'm afraid that I can't pick up the pieces.