Nights Like These

It’s nights like these that
I wander the streets
And thing, am I worth
As much to you as
You mean to me.

It’s nights like these that
I ask, what am I doing
And I answer myself
Existing, but existence
Is fleeting and without
Inherent meaning.

It’s nights like these
That I wonder why
Are we together if
We don’t feel the same
Does your "I love you"
Still ring true?

It’s nights like these
That I answer my self
No, our love is hollow
But without it
I too am hollow.

It’s nights like these
That I wonder
Is it so bad
To be a hollow man.

Am I a man without
What beats within?
Am I a person
Without something inside?
Do I exist if no one
Can see me?

It’s nights like these
That I realize life
Is nothing but a show
Full of actors and hollow men.

And I realize
I am the most hollow
Of the hollow men.
A puppet without
A master to pull
The strings and
Make me move.

It’s nights like these
I realize a hollow man
Can shed no tears

This poem is about: 
Me

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