My Machinery
At the edge of the woods
Among the brush
I left my machines at home
I leave, in my skin, the pus
Can't puncture the wound
Can't bring myself to the outside
So into the wood I'm consumed
My machinery is what I crave
My machinery is what I need
To make a path and walk away
To make a path and become free
I left my machines at home
But I have my knowledge with me
And I'll need it all at the least
I left my machines at home
But there is one I cannot let go
Copyright © Jacob Fite | Year Posted 2015
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