As this empty wall reflects the emptiness it contains,
so does this grave of a body reflect.
“I am dead,” doth moan the cold, gray stone,
that wishes to imply itself as a heart.
But a heart has life and I have not.
This empty wall reflects its emptiness,
so does this stone of dead reflect
itself through my skin.
This skin, reflecting my being,
this wall, throwing back emptiness,
therefore, empty I am.
This cold, gray stone hath
frightened all traces of life
in my soul away, reigning
over the vast pit of emptiness
this frame of a body contains.