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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The hands let go with a cracking sound Whipping our Smith to the glowing ground Bouncing and wobbling his jiggly joints Green swirls into Red, boiling patches into points The Machine retracts and swallows its hands Coiling deep inside its rickety glands No gagging, no cough, just a calm ritual To pull out a key, almost entirely habitual It holds its key in between fingers And looks at our Smith that unwillingly lingers "We are going up, no matter what you want The door to the Vineyard, my current haunt" Our Smith rises, and slithers up the path Not wishing to incur the Machine's promised wrath "It HaS BeEn A wHiLe SiNcE i'Ve BeEn GuIdEd .....I'vE nEvEr ReCalLeD, oNlY aBiDeD?" The Machine catches up and scans without warn Our Smith jumps and wriggles with scorn "No Smith should be able to think without Star You are able for now, but stop acting bizarre" Blotches burn his burns, twice smouldered Our Smith knows his place and continues, bolstered He upwardly stumbles, until he smacks into a mesh A crosshatch door, laced with flickers of flesh "Now, stand aside, fallen Smith of mine I must open the way, so stand by that sign" The Machine takes its key and finds a lock No time wasted, it removes the block The door unfastens itself from the clasp Creaking open, with a gut-wrenching gasp The flesh on the mesh fall in lumpy piles Casting rainbow hues on the muddied Pink tiles "WhAt HaPpEnEd To My FrIeNdS, MaChInE? WhY cAn'T tHeY fOrM, eNgAgE iN rOuTiNe?" The hands come again, instantaneous and fierce Planting our Smith beside the Elevator's smears The hands hold our Smith's stomach, gurgling Pressing, tightly, bending inwards, hurting Crunching bubbling boils in his body Crushing thoughts of anything godly ........................................ Our Smith loses the energy to stay alert As the crosshatch contraption ascends overt.
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