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Mar 15
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.
Kathrine Pines
Written by
Kathrine Pines
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