No more am I the me that I was,
A divine intervention of cosmic laws.
There is left no self to myself,
An empty photo frame on a chockablock shelf.
Still, within me, there am I,
An existential crisis for the equation of Pi.
Am I real or am I not,
The external built upon lies and flaws.
I am not the me that I was before,
Yet an outer shell remains without a core.