All I Have Done is Powered by Our Memories

All I have done is powered by our memories,

So systematically ordered:

"I love you and I hate you," the start

And stop buttons of just life.

Press your hands against my cold body

And scrape away the paintwork clogging

Artificial arteries and veins

Very ripe for the picking. My blood

Runs on iron, and steel, and glances

As sharp as scissors skin-deep.

Where is my flesh – if I have torn it

From a willing soul?

No breath can mist the glass if it is warm.

Purr your keys into the ignition,

Relight a flame between my eyes,

Lest we both burn out.

Yet, you would not, invincible one,

For you live where the gods sleep:

In a crucible of tender remembrance.

Up here in the tap-tap of a flashcard model

For the photographic sections of a memory.

Speakers as ears, and an 'apology'

To hear through ocean's deep of tears.

Mine at your expense, where money is a currency

Of kisses and the backseat driving of a robot.

Let's retrace steps,

Abandon the rules,

Take what belongs to us

Back from the chasms of our chests and

Syncopated beating of one mind.

It lies in our roads of varied youth;

It hunts in the passage of time,

Our contrasting drive to design desire

In a cradled wheel, two hands' incline:

Turn it up, rev power and complacency beyond lies.

Only, tell me out, say "you manipulator!"

And throw on our brakes, so I can ricochet,

Ricochet off my own decisions without seatbelts,

And throw myself from a bloody tower of my own mechanic preparation.

The End

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