There it goes! The machine that tread.
Labels carelessly placed and its scratches bruised,
with its unfinished polish, its capacity abused.
Its thin foil shreds have undergone many amends,
with once robust members now of awkward joint bends.
Sight of color
No need for technicolor
Dark and beautiful night
Ready for the flight
Final days before farewell
Have to look at the future with swell
Last minutes, final conversations
Time for final actions
Memories to …
Invisible. Masked. Unseen. Ghost. Disguise. Does anyone even know what it feels like? To look at yourself and just criticize. Look at them, look at you, nothing alike.
Just me, my shadows and these words of hate. They’ve got me …