Why did you craft
all this sorrow?
How did you scrape
enough clay off the sides of my ribs?
Who are you,
and what did you do with that heart
I gave you?
Did you throw it
away?
Are you keeping it in a mason jar?
Does it get enough sunlight?
Do you feed it?

No.
Because I feel the death of it.
Deep, down low.
Please throw it down into this pit.