Machine

I don't know where to begin.
I have no idea where I end and where the idea of you I had for so long starts.
There is no meaning any more.
Just blurred outlines of what once was.

Each morning blends into the next, nights encroach and sap the warmth from the days.
A perpetual infernal drive to continue an existence, to continue to be.
... whatever - whoever it is, that this is.
He is not me.
He occupies the space I used to.
He does not look like me.
He is older.
Wearier.
More withdrawn.

I watch this little machine clunk and whir and go about his flawed mechanics.

I wind him up.
I watch him go.

I'm just the man with the key.