The Machine
Fingers search and pry open
The cracks and folds of this human
They want to see what it might be
A soul or maybe a machine
Breathing shallow sighing deep
It wakes it breaks up peaceful sleep
Screaming whining it wants more
Clawing scratching at my door
Resistance leads to offence
Leads to questions
Leads to impatience
Improbable motive leads to cancerous thoughts
This stamina inside your being
The rhythmic pulse of the machine
A quivering to be set free
From wrath
From lust
From everything
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