Faulty Wiring

Perhaps

we are nothing more
than a machine
created as a bizarre
and cruel
experiment or worse
as a sick form of entertainment
like those robot battles you see
on obscure TV channels
late at night
in a lonely motel with
an untouched bible in your hand
and a mind filled with escape plans
because your cold
hardened
heart
is no longer receiving updates
and
the virus
has taken

over.

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She Looked At Me

She wants to weigh herself
but only weighs her sorrows
Heavy as a burdened beast
every step a wrenching strain
Getting nowhere, causing pain
The door swings open with a cry
no ones waiting for her outside
She is a melting candle
dripping acid, it burns
holes in her jeans
now she is trendy in her despair
Her clothes are too constricting anyway
the strait jacket of society
Let her be naked
look at her scars
Stark cold white pink
This is She