Machine
Air was pulling me
Thin on wheels; then hitting on madness,
The crash—left in smashed steel.
Left just your consciousness;
I’m a ghost to my own pain.
I’m a ghost’s brimming eyes
Living in a window, to ego and life.
The dark
Rather than with cycle—
Tense in there;
You, with the stare—
Jab at the broken wheels.
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2023
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