I gave you the tools.
The keys, the love to power the machine
I gave you the fuel you needed
I kneaded out the k(nots) in your back, in your lips, planted petals of forget-me-nots with my tongue
I knotted your shoelaces so you would never trip
But that didn't stop you
I put my hands on your shoulders and breathed down your neck, like a dragon, fire coming from me always
Your face down, submissive, and relaxed.
You stayed like that until the end
Weak and unbothered, driving off and gassed up.
With my fuel.
This is why I do not drive.

Operating from another world
Cascaded into psychedelic dreams
Lost in a floating cloud
Robotic
A creature in disguise
I am not human
I am not human
I am a soul
But I am not human
He pulled me in with despair
I feel him
I follow my own path
I am my own being
An outcast
A demon

I want to be that other girl

This is the world of the ATM at lunch,
It swallows your bankcard with a munch,
Then, when the money appears,
Yell, "I won, I won, my dears!"

Well this machine just wasn't built right.
the receptor only processes certain sounds that it's familiar with
or images that seem to
not really exist,
motors seem to be weak
only get enough juice to function
above low power
when the system is running on the backup generator.
even then it only can move for about
an hour
it needs to be shut down for eight hours
every night
and take a fifteen minute break
every two hours
so it's really only useful 14 hours a day
at best
and if you ever forget to shut it off
or try to leave it on more then that
you'll need to send it back
to the shop
for thirty days
we recommend washing it every morning
and putting these capsules in the top
when you boot it up
it may make mistakes less often
or it could self destruct
chances are if you remember to shut it off
it will not destroy itself
there are better models but they are for display
to make you see how much more you
need to tend to this model
we really need you to know
how much care this machine takes
it doesn't do everything it's capable of but it can do
pretty much everything.

People take turns inserting coins
attempting to grab plushy hearts and plastic capsules
the claws never were good at holding on for long
always went limp, dropping the trinkets, just before the finish line
only time it grabbed hold of something long enough
to flash all the lights and sing
was for children
who pointed a tiny hand
at something shiny they saw inside
parents step up to fail again and again
at winning it for them.
when the kids have a turn.
on the first try, they lasso this heart
resting firmly on the bottom
hidden beneath all the old ipods and heavy rubber toys.
would glow in the lights
when they lit all up and sang for them.
revered for their expertise and skill,
they reach in to claim their reward.
not even knowing what it really was.
but for some reason
grabbing it.
bringing it everywhere.
when the kids get older.
it was kept on their bed.
when they had their own children
handed down to toy chests
when they grew old, their children left the hearts
in hospital rooms...

they didn't think of it much.
seemed natural to lug it around.
everyone was so proud, that the machine chose them.
the prize was so soft, and familiar.

the machine, though.
could tell every day that it was missing.
held tightly onto the coins they left.
kept filling itself with junk and giving it to strangers
hoping one day they'd come back to play again.

a man comes by once in awhile to relieve him of his coin
then fills him full of new prizes to divvy out.
but the claw machine lodges some coins
far in the back, where his short arms can't reach
so he can remember

I wish we would write more.
Physical letters, I mean,
To show who we care for,
Instead of expressing ourselves by machine.
Because there's something about
Ink on a page,
And painstakingly writing it out
But... that's so rare in this age.

Are we truly connected
If you only ever tell me through text?
I suppose it's expected
but it leaves me perplexed
How can it be true?
If it's just pixels on a screen
Words with no value,
On the face of a machine.

Don't you detest
Our online obsession,
Conversations compressed
And a loss of connection

Single file
opaque eyes of ants
search in the dark.
Darkened grey concrete below
paves the voyage
from shadowed food
into dim tunnels below.
The vague, drab nature
of the moon on their backs
cascades itself into the
expanse of clouded night.

Faint whispers of supplement
call to the ants one by one.
Foggy dreams lead them on,
though the path is hidden
by the wariness that night brings,
They continue still.
Progress is made yet always unseen
and undiscovered
Together they travel
feeling the street
with instincts of caution.

A tilt of their tiny, ant head
shows the rising light in the distance;
a distance that must be covered.
As they crawl towards the light,
the light crawls towards them back.

The pace slows as the eternity defines itself.
A foot on their back slows their initial progress
as it pushes them forward and it pushes them down.
The light grows misty in its closeness.
A stalk of industrial obscurity climbs its way up
to cage the light in its place.
The effort of the ants is lost on the
wheel of the machine.

Yet, resilient as time,
the lamp post lights the way.

I can't formulate:
what makes you think,
what makes you talk,
so i make you laugh,
by telling a joke!
I may not know,
how the muscles twich,
but that smile of yours,
is an awesome gltich!

So it happens like this
Everyone is watching, and I'm begging
Look at me! Please!
For just a second, hour, day! Please!

Don't you see the issue? I'm constantly
Effecting everyone, every day
Still, I'm not, I'm not,
That important to the whole scheme
Really I should just walk away
Unless someone really cares, I'll fade
Care not, farewell
To the long drop and deep sleep,
I wish, I want, I would, I could if
Only I could give it up, A toast! To
No one, no where, no way, and no how