Echoes of dripping liquid sound
against the cool, thick cement floor.
It muffles every step you take —
and almost every scream.
Taste the fumes of fuel and steam,
the smell of revolutionary ecstasy.
Machines more efficient than before,
more than you — a human — are.
Rotting flesh on aching bones,
caged inside a living tomb.
An expiration on your beating heart,
and elastic skin — so easily torn.
Anesthetic beginning to take its toll
as weakness-ridden scarlet pours.
Instruments of chilled unfeeling
probe against the chest, still breathing—
Mechanical perfection achieved at the price
of a short-lived, trivial human life.
You live still, though it's hard to say
whether or not you died that day.