Whine Tasting

"Dearest heart, my faux sculpture
graven in your own celestial nature
beneath the spoils that you feed
stains an empire of hollow greed
there you exist abstract, verily

Ice has started to form in place
of your thrown sealing the dirty haze
you were never real, yourself
I made you up to hurt myself
...and it worked out to be

Throbs started to drift ashore
I cannot feel her anymore
I signed the spot to mark
the place where I buried my heart
Happiness was never meant for me"