My heart is whole,
But oil is empty and not near full.
My silence is rumbling,
My mechanical mind softly mumbling,
And my stick shift legs are slipping and stumbling.
Steam circles around my skull,
Boiling pot into an ironclad bowl.
And all the raindrops,
Sputtering engine stops.
Everyone wants to take you apart,
But you turn until you hear it start.
Motor oil coats your heart,
As all the world watches an assembly line of bolt, nut, and tart.
All your parts skid until they drop,
As heaving hubcaps roll until they pop.
-end-
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YOU ARE READING
-Good Morning, Stranger-
PoetryThey sound like such simple words, But they cut into me so. Such simple places, But they all seem to move so slow. Maybe if I were a lover, I could make it freeze up in summer, So I won't have to forget, The way you and I would hold each other as we...
