My eyes are pendulums,
Judgement creaks with every oscillation.
My bones are gears,
Oil drips with every move.
My blood is immiscible,
It doesn't flow, it slips.
My soul is a mess,
Filled with prudence.
"Look at his pendulums,
They glare, burning knives to stop murders."
"Look at his posture
He can't even sit at place"
"Look at those skinny pot-holes,
Numb from all the scratches."
"Look at that person,
Not even a good morning."