Cargando...

Factory Reset

What is it that inspires,
That pushes pulls and aches?
Cast about and forced upon,
The product that it makes.
Frenzied though they surely are,
And paranoid at best,
Pull me close and stroke my hair,
So that I can be laid to rest.
The gears are all but jammed,
The generator’s shot,
And though the backup holds for now,
It’s better left to cool than not.
Wires out of place,
And sparking at each end,
Sporting tiny flames,
That grow the more they bend.
The walls, they crack and heave,
And smoke consumes the floor,
Pistons die with piercing shrieks,
That rattle loose the sighing door.
Long awaited sleep,
Stillness clears the dust,
Then rinse rise and repeat,
And shake off all the rust.

Otras obras de Lady Vex...



Top