Poetry

 

I

 

I,
An empty shell, seeking only to be filled.
Fragile seeming. Shattered at a touch.
May blow away with a single breath.
But against this storm, steel becomes.

I,
A firey pit of red and green,
Swelled by bellows of rejection and ignorance.
But in porcelain exterior
A shade of grey, devoid of colour.

I,
A division of the senses,
An ethical mind under siege.
Until primal lust ignites,
Then to burn away all trace of morality.

I,
A single creature, In an automaton's world.
Thought unspoken, emotion discarded or buried deep.
Be as the machine and feel nothing.
Until alone.

Alone we are all undeniably human.