A carefully constructed creature,

made to stand in opposition to time.

The fizzle, the boom, the break of day,

calls to me like flesh calls to decay.

I run.

I am a machine of blood and bone,

shattering and spilling myself across the ground.

I wonder what's inside me when I stretch and shake.

Where is everything squished,

and where do I have room to grow?

My body is a system of pullies and levers,

who creak a plea for a magic oil,

to make us faster, stronger, and invicible to the fading day.

A blip, a sliver, a fresh piece of meat.

I've been here so long but I'm still raw,

waiting to cook in the sun.