Stolen clockwork

It is not mine to give this curse.

It does not belong to me to decide who to put this burden upon.

I cannot lay my hands on any particular man

and transfer this precious sickness

with a thought or even awareness.

No, it escapes me while I speak,

in the presence of those

whom I have no desire to please.

It sends its rotten roots shooting out

into any crevice it finds,

digging deep inside,

widening the fissures it finds

till it rends in two the thing

it had once fought to be a part of.

The blood in my heart is brown now,

due to the length of time.

The blood rust,

more machine than human,

yet still so delicate,

still flesh like a human thing.

And he creeps in silently

to take what doesn’t belong to him.

He quietly steals away my heart.

My hands are tied.

A little piece today,

a little more tomorrow,

soon enough he’ll possess it all

and I am utterly helpless to do anything

but stare in amazement

at the fact that someone could desire,

so strongly,

to own this broken clockwork inside of me.

Amazed and thankful, too,

for his will to try and take it.

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