Hot tears and a hollow capsule of a person. That's what I am. A pathetic thing that lives forever. My insides heavy with burning ashes and constant conflicting feelings of every citizen I carry. I am a Nation. The burden I carry is not my own. Many others feel my pain. But I am so full of holes. I remember a time once. When I was a whole being. Happiness and content was constantly bubbling inside me. A warm child's face brought me that happiness. Now that face has vanished. That gun fire and scar on my arm is all that remains. All I am is a hollow corpse. A vessel that mechanically moves through everyday activities with no recognition to those around it. I am incomplete. Distant faces surround me. Laughing, jeering, loving, caring, hollow. Everything was hollow. To me. Alls meaningless and empty. A lost cause. The day humans are born, they are dying. Yet they put on a sickening facade that all is well with the world. The human race is young and pathetically fragile. Disease, metal, sorrow, heartbreak, or herbs can kill them. And then there is me. Anything can harm me, cause unbearable pain, can even be lethal. But no matter what, I will continue to live. Even when my body begins to rot and decay, My soul will remain living. Even if I begin to dissolve into sands, I will remain standing on the grounds of my country. My being is threaded into this land. Intertwined with this soil. Every Native of my land, I feel. I feel everything. All pain misery and love. All of it. And despite all of this life, all this wholeness and love, I am hollow. A mere shell. I am dead, yet I live. And I know, far too well, that nothing in this world could ever change that, or make this frail binding break. For I, myself, am already broken. I have been, and always will be, broken.
I am England, and I am incomplete.