Torn

Torn - what a pretty word that trickles
Off the tongue, like honey suckles
But in reality, its being pulled apart
By unseen forces, they tear and cut

One's already in the glass jar
The other dangling below the bar
In the same vein one's struggle
Is another one's gain

I stare beyond the ceiling
Beyond the tears of porcelain
Because being torn is much more than
Grinding boulders to finely grained sand

How do I lift you up in my too small palm
As the undertaker carries you off to embalm
Your lifeless body in the cold cold room
To feel guilty it was I that caused your doom

But I'm sorry it's all too late
Call me stupid, silly or fake
Perhaps I'm just loch nest monster
Lost at the bottom of Scotland's lake

I wish I could pull you out
But your dreams all shattered and visions clout
Block out my screams of assistance
To your heart lost in the distance

May you find the happiness you deserve