Oh, take pity on my decaying body,
take pity on this lost soul of mine;
broken and mended beyond comprehension,
bent at all the wrong angles,
more metal where skin should be,
organs replaced by hard wires,
fully operating, error warnings flashing;
funny how a machine can still feel,
oh, the torture of advanced technology;
I am mutated severly and lastingly,
who I was and used to be is lost
even to me in the process;
destruction hiding behind creation;
a robot stuffed inside me, wearing my skin,
and you watch from up close,
enjoying the way metal grates against bone,
when I scream a rasp comes out,
automated and deep, nothing like me,
and you laugh and laugh and laugh,
even when I set fire to your horrors
and burn this place with us to the ground,
now nothing but ashes remain
with the painful memory of what could have been
in place of your manic glee
at your childish desire to kill
and build and fix and brutalise;
fire will cover the bloody tracks,
erasing you from history;
this fire will set me free.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryWhile in English exists only one word for it, the ancient Greeks with their aim for self-understanding and knowledge found eight different varieties of love that we might all experience at some point: 1. Eros (Erotic love) - represents the idea of s...
