kind-of machine

and right here, you'll see a small kind-of machine this one's beat. and it's withered. and it's lost most its sheen. but here it's still etched; a promise to be "good". to be "true". that you deserve ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ and nothing else could do. many used it to feel better when they would start to feel lonely it was something of a treasure being the one and only nobody knew how someone could have invented such a thing or how when you wound it it knew exactly what to sing countless times it was played and its warmth was held tight where that warmth reached the heart and everything felt all right but less and less, they would come. maybe the tune had grown old? and suddenly they were gone, forgetting it was here, growing cold so here it sits again collecting more dust on the shelf too bad this kind-of machine can't ever wind on itself.