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  • Writer's pictureKyx

claw machine

day in, day out,

i lie there

praying to the three prongs above

for someone, anyone to pick me

one day, i'm lifted into the air

the metal bite into my sides

it hurts; it bruises,

but i've never felt so happy

below me the crowd surges

i laugh

they all look like ants

while i'm a wingless bird looking down

but then, the pain on my sides eases

the claw opens up

i fall back into the crowd waiting below

while it pulls back

the crowd swallows me up

and i disappear into the darkness

muffled underneath their feet

now i look just like them

the same colour of obscurity

the same worn-out fur

the same aching expressions on our faces

as we (im)patiently wait to be picked again


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