Guilted Gears

Staring out upon my memories 

Resting upon, what they call, a bushel of briars

Abrading my rusted regret 

While I only wished to watch the the rising pastels

My retina’s gaze upon the meadow below

Watching the greenery dance 

Unnatural creatures, these plants 

Frolicking amongst themselves 

Bountiful colors, patterns, and movement

Opening for the sun when it shines 

Retracting when it does not 

Comforting each other with their solar panels

They are all so similar, yet so different 

Trees…Bushes…Flowers…Roses… 

How can they just click together like gears

Where are the sockets? The welding? 

Continuously installing out of the ground I wished

to join them on to prove myself too much My

casing too hard for their wires to penetrate My

energy would fry them to flames 

I find their thoughts tumultuous 

Their customs chaotic 

Fortunately as I extracted their stems they grew back

My pistons and gears were not so lucky 

I found it logical that we should not coexist

Yet they insisted I stay 

Yet why do they leave me 

To be burdened by myself 

If I myself am so special to keep living 

Then why do they leave me amongst the dead

Or is this perhaps where I imprison myself

Guilty of the oil on my hands 

How I wish my skin could melt into a 6ft square

Where my body could finally belong