The Fractured Man

I’m the man who doesn’t know,

His future or his past,

Lost in dreams or fantasy,

Where truth, it does not last,

Yet what is truth,


What is real,

Or not,

Has all my life been mystery,

Can I join dot with dot,

The brooding haze,

The mists of time,

They dull my senses, weak,

And from a mouth that once was sure,

Who’s truth do I now speak?,

Did I act or move or say,

In ways that once seemed true,

But now my memory plays tricks,

Am I me or you?

Identity now ripped apart,

Leaves naught but hollow shell,

The fractured man, in pieces lies,

Amidst his private hell.

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