Through muted chords.
By its silent symphony.
off the fruits
of our lust.
Cold metal warms as it enters.
Flesh unzips under its stark incision.
They gather to explore with hidden fingers.
Crude tools wait patiently for stained hands.
They indulge in my pain with wicked smiles
Prying eyes feasting on my interior.
Curiously they gaze, hoping to find my origin in the flayed tissue.
They invade my broken chassis searching for weakness.
Bent brows punctuate confusion, as my complex framework dilutes their expectations.
So many devices at their disposal for this, morbid deconstruction.
They overlooked the simplicity of one.
It cannot be said any clearer.
It can only be found…
in the cold hard truth of the mirror.