A perfectly useless piece of machinery,
Working overtime from the comfort of my bed,
Beating away at irrational paces,
Reimagining moments in my head,
Replaying scenes from my movie,
Changing the script when the conversation is dead,
Fixating on error and warning signs,
But the butterflies don’t digest well after a while,
My body is beating the odds,
Calculating perfect reactions,
Winning arguments,
Charming pick up lines,
Effortless conversations,
A perfect actor,
Coded by an emotionally stunted teenager,
The inner working of my machine,
Rusting in my chest,
My perfect little perpetual emotion machine is running on empty.