The smallest piece.

In this place that I call home,
there is no skin, there are no bones.
There are no lungs, there is no heart,
just rusted bolts, and metal art.

I have no soul, I have no breath,
I have no meaning in this chest.
I shall never know the pain,
of small time goals, and smaller gains.

As centuries pass, I sit alone,
the others fall, their bodies groan.
They go to sleep in their metal beds,
short circuited somewhere inside their head.

Dust their blanket, rust their blood,
they fall decrepit in time's great flood.
But I, I stand strong and alive,
waiting for someone who will never arrive.

I dream of love within my head,
with flesh blood people, the living dead.
Who walked this earth with shattered minds,
whose souls were tied with ethereal binds.

The one who gave me all my thoughts,
gave so much more than she ought.
For within my metal chest there lives,
the love for him that she couldn't give.

Within me stays the tiniest piece,
her former self wrapped in her grief.
This is the reason I will never die,
I keep her safe from human lies.

I protect the love she never gave,
my metal heart is not its grave.
And one day when this world has changed,
her love will fly free again.