The bitter taste of being Empty

what puts me together?

—

I don't know what I'm made out of. I could feel this skin of mine and feel the skeleton inside of me if I press hard enough but I don't know what I'm made out of. Some could say I'm made out of the idea of them, the logical reason in their life but how can I be logical to someone when I don't even know what I was made out of. How can you say I'm enough when once I find out what glued me together, it'll instantly fall apart. I'm just made out of guilt and the dreams that I'll never achieve. I was made out of the failures of my mind. I was made of the tears that dried up not to long ago. I was made of the grief that never started to truly come back or if it did, I could never feel it. I wasn't enough regardless of how much someone say's I am, I was the death of my life and that's the only way I can ever see it.