I am the Broken Man.

The people don’t believe me.

They all are knowingly blind

To a truth I know I see.

I’m told my looks are pleasing,

That I hold a mind that’s open.

They choose to see the things

I’d lack if I were broken. 

I hear things are not hateful,

As the days were far back then.

They all wish I were grateful 

To be above the broken men.

My mind starts to believe 

And then I turn to see my mirror.

I’d look into the hole in me,

Exposing all my innards. 

The people are deceiving.

They know they believe a lie.

The nerve to continue believing

A flaw eyes can’t deny.

Scattered all over the floor,

My remains are nothing but bits.

I am the Broken Man,

And I can’t do anything about it.