That inner limb was lacking

A sense of right and wrong

Like a pane without glass

A melody without a song

 

You possessed virtues of sorts,

Were, not by any means, all bad,

Yet I remember you only for

The conscience you never had

 

Fissures materialised where

The inner self was displayed

Skeletons in your cupboard

Facade aside, were betrayed

 

Good times came and went

Digs and barbs bit my mind

Things you said about others

Harsh or cruel or just unkind

 

I flinched at heartless spite

A relish at people's sorrows

How you focused on today

Decried others' tomorrows

 

Sex had once filled the gulf

Yawning betwixt our minds

When that waned, there was

Nothing to see that binds

 

The morning I dropped you

I was surprised at your shock,

Was there a heart after all

Under that cold-eyed rock?

 

You possessed virtues of sorts

Were, not by any means all bad,

Yet I remember you only for

The conscience you never had