Will I die an unfinished project?

The song left lying in my laptop like a jigsaw puzzle with only the edges done

The canvas half-painted, nestled amongst the junk in my storage cupboard

My years and years of sketchbooks where unfinishedness spreads like a virus 

over the pages

The poetry book I never started

All the half-written poems piling up in my phone

Like this one

How does one finish herself?