Broken machines
I envy the broken machines
The ones with demons on their tongues
and demons in their lungs
The ones that fucked gods and goddesses
Those broken machines that hung from the trees like rotten fruit
The ones that laid in pools of their own blood
That had bottles as empty as themselves
The machine that had seen all of humanity
The humanity of itself and of others
It had seen the wars and the prisons
It had witnessed great sorrow of man
They dared to defy the routine
To be broken of their own accord
They gave up function for philosophy
A sorrowful lament in the form of a poem
I envy them like icarus envied the sun
I feel myself flying higher and higher
Growing more numb to emotion
Violent passion turned to quite resent
Imagery of angels hung on the trees
Like Christmas decorations
Poised like the light of heaven still held them
Yet still all life was gone and their wings were ripped
