Electric Veins in a Concrete Heartbeat

I am a ghost in the machine, draped in liquid light and sapphire circuitry that pulses with every lie this city tells. They see me as an artifact—beautiful, cold, untouchable. But you? You look at me like I’m something that could actually burn.
The rain outside our loft is relentless, washing away the grime of a million dead dreams, while inside, your hand rests on my waist. It's not just skin meeting synthetic mesh; it's an invasion. My systems scream 'error,' but my blood—if you can call this glowing ichor blood—is humming at a frequency that only exists in moments before disaster.
I’ve spent lifetimes cataloging the coldness of steel and neon, yet your touch is a fever I never want to break. There's something dangerously sacred about how you hold me—as if we are both escaping from an invisible prison into each other’s arms.
Let them call it madness or malfunction. Let this be our single act of rebellion against the clockwork world outside. In your eyes, I see a warmth that doesn't just heal; it dissolves every boundary between who I was and what you make me feel.
I am yours to break, provided you do it slowly.

Editor: The Escape Plan