The aluminium folds
Under my able fingers
As I shape it to my
Will
My own tin man

I did not choose you
To be so heartless
Your purity lying in
The utter
Emptyness of your chest

And I, being the human I am
Constantly unpure and purifying
Find comfort in your
Sinlessness
Your inability to right me

No hope rises around you
And no shiver runs down my spine
At the touch of your cold skin
Frictionless
No strings able to attach.