Welcome to another piece of poetry! As always, enjoy!

---

Machine

I've always heard

the body

is a machine.

Now I know

that this is true,

especially for

the brain.

I can say that

because of

my brain.

For reasons

I don't know,

I have

a near perfect

memory.

My brain

works

overtime

to keep that

up.

My brain

is like a

perpetual motion

machine.

It goes on

forever,

stuffing its

innumerable compartments

with information,

as if they were

famished guests

at a

Thanksgiving

dinner table.

My brain

is like a

worker,

creating cement.

First, it

pours the

unstable material

where it wants.

Then, my brain

waits

for its

handiwork to harden.

After,

everything will be

engraved

in my memory

for years

to come.

My brain

is

a series

of

invisible

file cabinets.

Whenever

someone

asks me

something,

I mentally

open the drawers

of my brain.

I sort through

the organized

folders,

often finding

what I want

in seconds.

Then, I read

what I have found

and stick it back

into the drawers.

People

marvel over

my talent,

but

what they

don't realize

is that

my machine

is both

a blessing

and a curse.

Sometimes,

there are things

I never

want to remember.

Embarrassing things,

horrific things,

useless things.

But, my brain

won't let me

forget

because

it has already

hardened

the cement

and placed

the files

into the drawers.

This is what it means

to own

a machine

that goes on

forever.