read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

August 21, 2011
Made of tin, brass, and nickle, we are clockwork people. Just like you, we shuffle through our streets with heads hanging heavy and shoulders slumped low. Our 75 watt sun forgets to turn on sometimes, and it's hard to believe the maintenance crew can fix it again.

Inside our chests, behind dusty windows we keep bolted shut, burns a flame we call our soul. Some burn low, barely flickering to stay alight. Others fill our breasts with light that pierces the dust and illuminates the way home.

And then there was one, they say, who blazed so hot she melted.