He envisions the Machine as a large locomotive
Of a deep, tainted, black metal chugging down and infinite track
The eternally glowing red hot coals pushing the pistons
A giant crimson cowcatcher is fixed at the front
Scraping up followers; forcing them into the vehicle
Manipulating Its passengers to smash their heads into the Machine
Welding their minds into Its mysterious black metal walls

Stained with the blood of many who have tried to resist
Ultimately wounded, maimed, outcaste from society
Forever marked, branded by the scars of their attempt
When the Machine has used you and-or your mind to Its purose
It shoves you into Its furnace—keeping the pistons turning
The Machine cannot be stopped—always picking up followers
Forcing you into It; becoming one with the Machine

As He looks into the engine room, there is no conductor
A runaway locomotive chugging down the track with no end
Its only goal: gathering as many passengers as possible
Society, Washington, the Media built the machine
Their brainchild, but have long since become a part of It
Their minds welded the deepest—becoming the foundation of Its walls
Long ago abandoning their carcasses to fuel their mighty creation

I read a blog post
That I had written
Years ago
It was written
The night of my first kiss
And it was titled,
"The best night of my life ever"
I can say now
That it was probably not the best night of my life ever
But it was a good one
I remember it well
The fast pace of my heart
The whirling of my stomach
The smile plastered on my face for the whole week that followed
Prompting my mother to ask what the hell was wrong with me
That sunday in october
Years ago
Was the first time
I had ever felt butterflies
I wrote about it the night it happened
Eager to document my excitement
That sunday in october
Is a night that I still write about sometimes
I have kissed
Many lips since then
I have had hands touch me
Explored bodies
In ways that my 13 year old self
Would cringe at
I am much older now
But some days
I feel like time hasn't passed at all
Some days
I have to remember
That this body is not the same
It has played house to so many men
That I often forget who it belongs to
I am not the same person
That I used to be
I have had so much happen
Since then
So I wonder why
I am still writing about my first kiss
How it is the only memory
Since then
That I don't want to erase completely
My innocence was lost
Not long after
So I keep rewinding to that night
Continue playing it back
Back to spinning objects instead of bottles
For the chance to be kissed
And a moment of infinity
It's funny
How one of my fondest memories
Is a sunday in october
When the boy I liked
Touched his lips to mine for the first time
It's funny
How I still think about it
After so much has happened
After so much time has gone by
I am almost a completely different person
Than I was back then
But I still need reminders
That I'm not that girl anymore
I still think about her
I still write about her
I wonder
If she ever wrote about me
And who she thought she might be
After so many years
I still keep her blog up and running
For the sole purpose of reading it
For the sole purose of reflecting
On what was important back then
And what will always be
She wrote about her first kiss
To be able to remember it
I am writing about it
To keep her alive.

I hope you know that you are loved
And when you feel low
you are still above
the darkness and your demons
Promise me you won't give up
you are needed
This goes out to my aunt that took her life
To the ones contemplating death day and night
questioning your existence
the thoughts are now consistent
i hope you know that the world would notice if you went missing
You are the only you on this earth
Yes there are stronger boys and there are prettier girls
There are people wealthy and unhappy
And there are people poor that smile with no teeth
You can make it out of this ditch
i mean if you wish
Because who am i to tell you to stay alive
To tell you that you need to exist
To tell you that you have a purose
Your life with flourish
love yourself from within
and soon people will see this bright light in you that was once dim
I hope you stay alive
not for her, not for them, not for that, not for him, not for this but for you.

When this life has nearly no meaningful purose, there is no term like meaningful
writing!!