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...
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