Machines
Hell boils under my skin,
and the sky cries feathers
of the fallen
through the haze,
through evaporated tears of
the forgotten.
Love was a dream.
Love is a nightmare.
Love will amount to
physical suicide.
As I bow my head before the winter,
I bleed my insecurities
into the world of machines
that engulfs me.
Oh, solitude, my friend!
I should have not betrayed you!
I pace slowly above the abyss,
waiting to fall.
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