It has been played with. Tossed and turned. Tossing with it the turn of each day and turning about every time night was tossed around.
It has been bruised and bled. Wounded and scarred.
It has pleaded. Wailed. Agonized. Trumped. Lost.
Broken. Shattered. Attacked.
Torn and ripped apart. Taken and crumpled.
The bloody machine. The powerful motor. The damned plug it is. Wont stop. Succumb.
It still keeps going. when it should have given up. Each time i’d think–now it is done for.
Bloody machine–it keeps coming back for more. Even though it is tiresome. But the bloody machine–though not very well oiled–keeps going on and on and on.