Borne from scornful curses, I've been looking for my insides in all the wrong places. I can't say I remember what it's really like to sleep. I just chop trees through the night into morning dew, until I am stuck and rusty. This whole walking thing, I blame my false joints like I don't remember my metal being this HEAVY. You can't be young-at-heart if you don't have one! I've lost count of the barrels of black gold it's already taken to get me here. Squeezing at an oil can to simulate a heart beat. She says "We have come such a long way already" - so I clink-clank and dance my way into a smile, but still I've got this monkey on my back that is unrestrained by gravity. You can beat my vacant chest as proof I am emptiness reflecting. Feeling like I was built from blueprints I don't see that often. My parts don't match up at times, lead paint is the LEAST of my concerns! So maybe they were right - Maybe I am just a shivering junkyard, but i think I've been "dis-hearted" from holding my axe for ages. Cutting firewood and waiting for my pieces to come back that would allow to standstill. But fairy-tales don't allow for that and the bricks around here are precious metals in need of polish. I keep grinding my tool nightly until it is sharper than the knife in my Pysche. I fall another tree even though I don't need the heat. I'm patently hollow - like the evening and when the darkness starts to breath, I take a healthy dose of poppies, like maybe NOW I'll sleep, and when my eyes creak I dream of a city dressed in green. They say there you can shake hands with a Magic Man, though I've never been a proponent for pity or pretty tricks. I'll lift a lumberjacks instrument that two men couldn't swing, and strap it to my back, and get to WALKING! I am posting this even though it is a work-in-progress and not nearly done or even good, because someone once told me to "not just post only the best and most perfect bits of myself." ...not sure if I will get back to this or not, but it's out there. ~YoshiO