Poetry (words)

Wednesday 

He’s wired to the mainframe, but the world passes him by. Finger on the pulse, but his well has long been dry. 

Replacement parts to fill the void whenever he grows cold. Those foot imprints by the sofa his story yet untold. 
But what a fine collection of tiny plastic limbs. All those limited editions of so many favourite things. 

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s