He last called my name,
Then he could speak no more,
I have seen many deaths,
I knew he was going to die.
They hospitalised him,
To check what was wrong.
I sat by the bed praying,
He breathed fast,
In between long sighs,
His eyes were glassy,
I asked for forgiveness,
He moaned,
Nodded several times,
I began to cry,
He was with the angels,
Reliving his past.
It is coming to an end,
The beeps on the machine slow,
Tears fall from his left eye,
He gives a heavenly smile,
Looks at me lovingly,
Let go of my hand.
The machine beeps no more,
Gently I close his eyes and mouth,
Straighten his legs and hands,
He was gone peacefully.
A man of great patience and love,
He gave all and asked for nothing.
My husband was a diabetic and very sick.He was kind and loving.
Oh Son of two Corrupted hearts and moving parts
shatter the glass that holds your heart,
let the blood flow like rain
You are only a part of the machine they say
but you know the truth
spoken between the words of vipers
you are more than what they say
You are what you see to be
spurr of the moment thing
Machines are only as beautiful
as the nature of their function.
Consider a grandfather clock --
a handsome combination
of practicality and playfulness,
symmetry and simplicity
(though quite complex within) --
wood and steel joined perfectly
to inform, entertain, and intrigue.
     Conversely, a television lacks
such subtlety, making it
almost malicious in its capacity.
In its nature is the intention
to render nature, itself, obsolete.
Where a television aims to
make us forget,
a clock, for instance, serves to
remind us that it is time to
start living -- and what could be
more noble or more beautiful
     than that?
Myrrdin 5d
I speak
About hating
How I speak
I have feelings
About my extreme
Lack of feeling
I find myself
In all the ways
I've lost myself
Machines gain souls
Once they've realized
They are machines
Bryce 7d
Here I am again
banging and clanging
Pots and pans
on
head of lead
Ripped and tan

Scream and shout
Twist and pout

Aint nobody gon' talk about

you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you,







...and yeah.

you too.
Saki Wang May 16
: The Breakdown of washing machine.

Take a T-shirt from wardrobe,
                              Wear it,
                                          Go out;
                              Come back,
                     take it off,
         and throw it
into the Laundry bag:

Gone.


Take a legging from drawer,
                                          Wear it
                                                      to gym;
                                          Sweat,
           ­                      Come home,
                     take it off,
         and throw it
into the Laundry bag:

Gone.

My house
Eroded
by a tiny Laundry bag!

The Terror
to think of the poor white dress
who will bear the taint
of a grease spot
a drop of cappuccino
a black ink mark
or the unexpected bleedings that first attacked me when I was eleven --
For-ever;

The Smell
of the perfume residue of the arrogant woman in the elevator;
the mixed odor
of Cigar and Whiskey that suffocates me,
Sweats that penetrate my clothes,
creamy scents that claim to every passer-by what I ate for dinner --
I can do nothing with them.
The sense of who I am: Lost and corrupted
in the scents of strangers and foreign objects.
Those I collect to protect my body: Crumbled.
Those spaces telling me where I fit in: Collapsed.
Those my courage to surrender to the world
my aspiration to stand against the others: Now
All-fragile, all-fading.
If my Second skin
cannot withstand a Single stain
I      no longer armed.
I          am afraid.

The sorrow right now
Wearing my favorite floral top
to welcome the early summer wind
knowing today
could be the last day I spend with it,
                       brag about it,
                            hide in it,
                               being part of it,
and one day
I will finally wear out everything and look at myself:
worn out like——



a
Broken washing machine.
Last month, all the laundry machines in the building I live in broke together. It lasted for an entire week. It was a terrifying experience.
Katie Apr 26
the stillness of the window

the leaves twinkling in the sunlight

the silence of the scene

the rumble of the washing machine
I am a human,
I have emotion,
I act like a fool;
It depends on my mood...
I scream and I cry,
I argue and I fight,
I mess up every little thing that's good in my life...

I'm sick of my heart ruling me; it doesn't do it very well.
If I mute the pain, will I be able to escape this hell?
I will lock it up inside, and I will let my heart grow cold.
My mind will have it's time because my heart has let my weakness show.

I am not human
I feel no emotion
I feel no pain
I feel nothing
I'm unable to cry
No matter what I try
Oh how I want to feel something and know that I'm alive

I'm sick of my mind ruling me it doesn't do it very well
Now that I've gotten here I hope I'm able to escape this hell
My mind knows of the love that's there but my heart is a deadly cold
I have become mechanical a statue nothing more than gold

I am half human,
I feel some emotion
My mind fights to win,
To lock up my heart again
I'm not sure what to think
Should I float, should I sink
My heart is fighting for its life, but my mind can't blink
I've been lost in my mind
For as long as anyone can remember
And I was nothing if not kind
Only because I didn't possess that ember
I run off of oil
Not the desirable heart
Even within this turmoil
Everyone found there start
That's why I look up above
Because it is my dream
To soar like a dove
Without a voice that can scream
About tomorrow's endless sorrow
Just a small note about the title, its a stupid pun on "Mechanical Device". Just wanted to share a small bit of my thought process on the title.
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