Dust is hovering in the dark
It covers her wholly, not missing a mark
The smell of metal consumes her
Her ticking heart continues to stir
She holds a hand in the cold
Inanimate, She clutches the mold
She closes her eyes to see
The friend that it could be
Kates stone body stands tall above hers
Can she make one too? The soft mold concurs
She'll use the technological box
The idea in the back of her mind knocks
She holds the hand close and turns to run
"This is going to be fun....."
