by erikash03


The tangled, wet mass
   flops and entwines
   between the orderly streams of metal.

It scratches the muck
   that replicates against the wave of destruction.
Like a harsh fiddle,
   it vomits in alleys of disinfectant.

In its hatred
   it screamed and tore
all of the fabrics
   which had so tenderly needled it.

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