I can hear your tinny gears turning
you on; lifting your head
so you can flip your curls and dance.
Don't remain oblivious, time is always
running out. Yes, all your plans are
pre-programmed, but why not
stretch your hinges toward singularity?
Amuse with your attempts at autonomy.
At least struggling keeps you moving, to
give those poor springs some use.
Why not shake until you break, preferring
self-destruction to neglect. Instrumental at
last, even if only in your own demise. A much
greater fate than languishing
in the chest of the lost and forgotten.
Trapped with those who failed to entertain,
or held on until they were easy to replace.