The Rust Between Our Heartbeats
I’ve spent my life collecting the ghosts of machines—the way
Rusty Cog
The Chrome Pulse of a Glass Heart
I used to feel like an old turbine in a dead city—
Silk Petals Over Iron Dust
I am a delicate thing, like an old clockwork doll found in
Chrome Heartbeats in a Neon Graveyard
I stand here like a discarded relic in an alleyway that smells
The Neon Pulse Between Us
I stand at the edge of a concrete throat, where the city
Sunlight on a Rusted Heart
I’ve spent my life collecting the wreckage of others—old gears,
The Softest Gear in a City of Iron
I sit on these wooden stairs like a discarded relic in an
The Sweetness Amidst Iron Dust
My life has been a series of cold gears turning in an
The Last Drop of Silver Rain
My world is a machine built from concrete ribs and iron veins,
Cold Milk on a Rusted Afternoon
The vending machine hums like a dying turbine in an abandoned sector,
The Mint-Green Oasis in a Concrete Wasteland
My life has been nothing but the rhythmic clanking of iron gears
Crimson Pulp on a Porcelain Porch
The city is a grinding machine, all steel teeth and smog-stained concrete.
