It's not blood, it's rust

Catching my gears as they turn

Kerosene burning in my iron hull



My coding is faulty

I cannot feel but for pain and anger

Nervous system accustomed to the agony

Callousing the frayed ends from touch and care



I gaze in the cracked mirror in the stained bathroom

"Oh it's you" I say

Electrical pulses run through my head as I try to identify the one before me

"The source of all my problems" I say to my reflection



The calloused, pulsing wall between my consciousness

And my thoughts

I can feel them flowing

But cannot quench my thirst from the stream



As soon as my parched lips touch the crystal surface

Hands come up to drag me back to the depths

Bearing faces of those gone and those to go

I scream, but nobody hears.

Or is it that they don't care?