the last time we touched, you were moving on autopilot.
i could practically see the gears pushing your joints forward,
i could hear your inner clockwork ticking out of sync with my heartbeat.
we've been out of sync for a while, haven't we?
you respond to my love as if it's operation, as if you're desperate metal in need of oil
- automaton hands
YOU ARE READING
MOONCHILD ; poetry ii
Poetryif i want to die, i'll strive to live as much as i want to die
