Torn from my warm tender chest
Beating but dashed into pieces
This flesh-like machine
Sputtering badly and bleeding
Like rainwater wrung through a sponge
Submerging my lungs
And I am forced to take it out
Set it to the side
In favor of cleaner energy
Generated from another source
With fewer working flaws
Devices less unpredictable
Suited for calm atmospheres
And warm climate shifts
This thing from my chest
Is fairing quite poorly in cold, I fear
Surely this calls for drastic measures
Synthetic parts or performance enhancements
Relics eventually fail
Poorly constructed, I suppose
In life of more modern assumptions
It was destined for the grave
But this flesh-like machine
Is hard to disarm
Cogs still turning
Like involuntary twitches triggered
From a severed appendage
It struggles to survive
But only the strong prevail, I’m told
All things must die
And it is not so strong tonight
At least that is how it appears to me
There on the table
Unable to awaken or rise
“A tragic waste it seems”, I think to myself
As I pull the plug
vampireweather 