No Breakdown Cover

I’m avoiding real life behind the safety of my front door, a machine left to cool in the dark, fuelling when I can, pushing through with oil instead of blood. Belts seize, tensioners wound too tight, injectors fail to fire; each spark fades like memory - ignition slipping to static. The valves stick, hardened by grit and rust; maintenance deferred, wear settling deep in my bones. Now this machine is as cold as stone, no combustion, barely ticking over, an engine meant to go but left to stall, avoiding real life, one breath at a time.