Remained filaments of me

If I was sitting out here on the streets in the dark, skin and bones and an ugly face with scars,
yellowish sad eyes with tears,
matted hair
and an attitude all gone,
left with no personality, humor, nor intrigue
no wit to recite nor inputs to share.
If I wasn’t the personification of me
and the filaments of me only remained,
traced somewhere deep beneath this gore
would it be at least enough for you to bear?