Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
them up or
dress them down
they are still them
and they will
I am but a collection of parts
To be assembled or disassembled
Per my makers' activation.

An oily doll-like machine
Tightly wrapped with
Remaining layers of canvas
Stretched too far
Made too thin
Passively cornered and controlled
An animated object
Waiting for its next order.

Breath in......
...Breath out......
......Please forget.....

Valves open and close without purpose
Packed into an unorganized network of cogs and gears
Dusted with a putrid rust
Covered in slime and mucous.

A trail of blood and sewage left
In my wake.
The only mark of an existence
Slowly fading from relevance
Like a stone cast into the ocean's depths.

Time suffocates
With nice words and empty promises
Bidding me to winch my memories
Into nothing.

What does this mean?
...Can't remember.........
......Why can't i remember?

I lie now
In my mechanical grave
With Stitched eyes
With Stitched lips
And no sunlight.

My sensors will relent
Even while they beg
As my battery slowly dies.

Maybe then......
I can finally sleep without reliving
The legacy left
By my makers' hands.
When young and dreaming minds are set to wander
Into distant and dancing planes
A rhythmic cadence does beckon
While the Earth yields to watch
As barefooted children play.

The tire swings again
Curious shadows linger  
Never too close
Never too far
A fulfilled existence to an unfulfilled world
A silent presence to an absentminded crowd
Accompanied by the laughter of barefooted children
As they play.

When innocent children grow old
And Innocence becomes Ignorance
Unburdened smiles are replaced with
Darkened spirits and carefully crafted words.
The past still remains present.
A mindful shield
Guiding a hollowed crowd
Absent imprints of the soles
Of barefooted children
Far too old to play.

Seconds begin to weather
Tender breaths are met with woeful groans
Hardened by the world
Agonized by joyful memories
Rotting from inside to out.
Left to fall
Without any one to hear a sound.

Here lies a calm remembrance,
That while your melodies may become buried
Entombed by Concrete and Machine
When barefooted children turn
To heels and dress shoes and speech
The earth and roots will remain
Tattooed to the souls of our feet.
For the trees that watched as I grew up, and broke my falls when I climbed too high.
Darkness caresses the world
Silent and Alone and Afraid
When told its whole life its a monster
How should you expect it
To behave

— The End —