A Steampunk Digression



I work silently, crawling over unstitched shadows, an engineer of memory.

Weaving through the press of time, gathering bits and pieces unseen.


A gear, a cog, a hat, a hand, the turn of a phrase, the tilt of a smile, a moment of your time, a trace of your affection.

Claiming things that are not mine, making a machine that is not yours.


Casting it from bronze, lashing it to your altar, howling into the storm.

Sacrificing peace of mind for a single shot at the title, for a fleeting window to descend in flames.


Crafting the impossible, unthinkably, invisible…without permission or oversight.

Doing what I should not do, for reasons I should not have, reasons I would not have…


But I do.


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