It's unclear, but there it is,
the image is vague, but it's there.
I know it's you, who else but none,
I'm seeing it hazy but I know it's you,
leaving me broken, unwanted,
obscuring my destiny, ambiguous to see.
The image of yours is formless, but it's you,
nobody else, I know it's you, who else?
I may be broken into pieces,
at least I'm still the pieces that was broke,
I was there, a pieces of me shattered,
and the image of yours still lingering.
Now that I'm broke, I'm still me,
yet your image is crushed and there it is,
drifting like a fog, fuzzy, disconnected,
unable to return to its first state,
the primary image of yours.