Stricken heart, Where are you In this torment? You were loved by a sickness Of something higher Than what brought you low. A beauty so faraway Leaves my hands full of clay To sculpt this empire of scorn From eyes that are eaten and worn. Days are ripped From the future's tip Atop the precipice Where failure is practiced By the longest shot, The roundest knot In a heart made to burst Under the pressure of something worse Than the love I thought was best, Than the woman who'd bring me rest. You are the empire Built of something higher, While I remain in this halved Life, Of one that never exceeds Past a remaining strife. I startle myself On the bloodied plight To have it all back To a heart made of marble. I look to the direction of smoothness, Like edges of waters Never receiving the storm. It is still the hard coating of something so sick.