If You Could See Me Now
If you could see me now,
you may not like much what you see,
hardly anything remains
of all I used to be.
A ragged heap, a tangled mass
of things you used to know;
spent cigarettes, an empty glass
with nothing else to show.
When I had you, the sweetest prize,
you meant the world to me;
but then with dying in your eyes
you killed me utterly.
And nothing ever can replace
the thing I lost that night,
nor fill the black and empty space
with any spark of light.
If you could see me now,
so cold and broken and bereft;
"Are you him?" you might well ask,
"No, I am what is left."
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