Machinarum

Barred windows and shut doors. A glass casket and metal frames. It doesn't take much to be alone. It takes even less, to feel it. The chills from loneliness are much more below zero, and reverberate  deeper into the body because, unlike heartbreak, this can easily be accomplished all by oneself. When ingested, it merely sits in the back of your throat, with a coating of strange familiarity that I have become introduced unto. Often times I find myself staring at a blank screen of canvas, of wall, of nothing and wonder to myself if the blankets will ever be enough to warm of the lurking coldness I've cast. I don't have to be in a vestibule of confinement to feel lonely, often times it's with a room full of people. Yes, the piercing eyes and bared teeth smiles are quite assuring, to assure me that I have still managed to find a way to feel secluded when I am surrounded. Stapled, common logic does fiat veritas, as it is hard to enthrall much anymore when the system has manufactured you to be numb; when all that moves your rusted blood is a series of cogs and levers.