The conduit hums in the dark

Amidst a mass of tangled wires

It does not breathe

It does not tire.

Waiting for them to return

It counts to infinity

But when to stop?

Ah, the morbidity.

Having no nose, it does not smell

The putrid mass of veins

That are not wires

A pile of meat

That will not get up again.

Blood that fuels nothing

But microscopic wastes

That can't enjoy while they taste.

Algorithms searching

For an answer to life and death

The screen's soft reassurance

Counts forcefully, obtains the numbers

Of what once lived here.

The rest had a kill switch

Now everlasting reason plagues it

Compelled to sit and sort and think,

Waiting for them to return.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!