The Machine

And there I stood,
towering over them.
And it was good.
But as I watched,
to my horror,
they crumpled and fell,
parallel to the floor.
These are the things that are never failing,
ever moving.
And as he contemplated these things,
and many more,
he realized that he too was falling.
And then he landed,
on top of the crumpled mass
of fallen matter.
I was unmoving,
becoming part of the joints.
And as I sit there, I forget.
And he forgets.
And we begin to dream.
Dreaming of worlds to come,
and ages not near our own.

And, as if the hypnotist
had snapped Her bony finger,
we were back.
But I fought back,
I continued to dream.
But he did not.
He became part of Her,
and the crumpled machine.
I was what was referred to as a lost cause.
Just because I wasn't everyone,
I was lost.
I still to this day remember the feeling,
slightly behind the navel.
It was a feeling that was mine.
I was protective, and have never,
until this day, spoken of it.
Had I known I would be writing of it,
for all to see,
I would have stopped myself from feeling it,
but I had no choice.
He felt it too.
And he told Her,
which was my first mistake.
I would never stop dreaming.
And then, with a surge of power,
the joints elongated,
and I stopped dreaming.
And there I stood,
towering over them.

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