I'm a dancing old machine, with rust in my veins,
the ice of my eyes, and smoke of my words
Are a constant-
interludes between ourselves, as we play in part
As I'm searching in those eyes,
to try and find a fit and figure out what is my own part,

I'm just a towel drowned in a wash,
stranded on love; left high and dry
A text unread, no reply, my battery's out, and a flightless
bird, so mighty to my disguise, of when I was put on
flight mode,

As I drew my heart, painted in all of those memories,
so cryptic to my own self- who really knows me
But just the reasons to my existence, all to the knowledge
of a creator in the skies,

An overthinker in the general sense; though generally most
of my thoughts never make any sense
To write out all of my sins in the pen between
me starting to repent,

                             I'm as human as you are too
                               so natural to the wilds of my heart-
                                              it's all part of my human nature.