I've been thinking about things since I've begun to take control of my life. The more I think about myself, the more I hate the person I've become and the more out of control I feel. The more I think about myself, the less I know about myself. Hence, this. The lines between you and me, Once seemed so clear, so definite, But now they're scattered in shades of grey. What's me? What's you? It's hard to tell. Who am I? I used to know But now everything is uncertainty And with that revelation, Everything begins to fall apart like fragments of a dream. Everything begins to spiral out of my control as if I were slipping into quicksand. I'm trapped. I can't get out. But do I want to? Is it me that wants to get out? Or is it just me picking up feelings from you again? Where are the boundaries of you and I? They've disappeared. Smudged together like paint. If you were red and I were blue, You would still be red, but I would be black. Because I've absorbed so much from so many people I no longer have my own distinctness. I am made up by you. So then who am I? I've been lost, Tucked away inside, In an unreachable part of myself. If only I could find her.