New world, new life.
This one should be
Colder.
Inside I've stopped
But stopped like a machine with something jammed in the gears
The idea of motion presses on
Grating against itself
Mechanisms I don't understand have stalled
But growl low with their metal fury,
Growing hot.
I am paused, inside,
A picture on a screen, shifting between one second and the next,
Parts of me pixelated and blurry with interrupted action.
It feels, too, like my chest is being filled up with cotton
Packed tight
To keep the gears from grinding in their desperation to restart.
It feels thick.
I am slowly becoming less hollow
And more... muffled.
This feeling
It's wrong
It's dangerous
But I watch it continue and make no move to stop it.
The mechanisms must be protected
Even at the expense of the work to be done.
Until I know if there will be damage
Nothing will move inside of me.