The Bending Machine Your hands guide the weight of the bending machine You are overwhelmed by your own creation and need To see it bend and fold in on itself A blind portrait of destruction when one Thinks only of oneself. Your throat is constricted By the weight of the bending machine You listen to your own shallow breath And you are praying. You never even knew You believed in God. Your arms bear the scars of self-inflicted wounds You are wondering why your are so scared at night when darkness surrounds you And all you can hear is the whirr Of the bending machine that drowns out your thoughts And makes veiled, wicked suggestions to you in the dark. You wonder how the power of belief overcame you How you managed to justify your actions And vanish from those who lay claim to you The bending machine holds the answers. The bending machine can tell you everything. The bending machine Remains your secret confidante To whom you owe your greatest source of power Your eyes are shining as you stand watching Your bending machine The one thing you trusted when all others turned away The one who became your way to all knowledge And the one thing you turn to Even now.
