I feel empty,
So I filled myself with lard.
Maybe now you'll dent me,
Manipulate my shards.

Coax me into being
Something you could love.
Doves are spilling, woven
Twillings, cataracts above.

Seeing is harder with you,
Especially from this shelf.
Why bite the hand that feeds you,
When you insist to feed yourself?

Do you feel empty too?