The Machine
By: Kevin Magnus

Alone I set in the darkness, as years of pain takes a toll.
Destitute. I am tired and broken, with a unworking soul.
Losing daily at a fight to control my life,
I feel disconnected, cut away by a knife.
I am not the same, as I am lost and broken,
Not completely understood and now misspoken.
Trapped in a dark prison of hopelessness and disrepair,
A tend to the innocent while head to a thoroughfare.
Created to serve; demands and commands constantly are made without reservations,
But when I am unable to comply am met with angry and no hesitations.
Continuously gave to all those around me, and ask nothing in return,
As long as I give in do everything will be all right and am a discern.
If I had the ability to cry I believe that I would,
But after of centuries of neglect I just don't think I could.

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