Little brown engine, it buzzes back into existence. Running with a patter to the beat of a percussion. Flipping outward, against the wind of inhalation. Lubrication breaths into it new life, anchoring the blistered rift. It bleeds from its pores, as it propels against the outside walls of resistance. It squeezes, and fights for what little output it has left in the core. Metal beams slam forth, giving it a last aching pinches. Its infuriating that it may perish, it was a charming piece of machinery. But it will unfortunately be lost in the new world, it has no place but in a antique yard. Its parts will be sold, refurbished and made into something new. So maybe this was for the best, maybe it was all going to be alright in the end.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger