Morphine Machine

The parts of me that are good
are the only ones that rot.
The ones I poison with caffeine, with envy,
that I pray to fold away.

Yearning to be made mechanical,
aive automatic adorations, kindness in cogs.
Unlearn my performances
and take well-placed motorised breaths.

Break me down into my parts,
none of them quite good enough,
wait for what will decay,
to use me as you please.


H.R.Reid is a third-year English Literature student at Newcastle University. She edits for multiple zines, and has been published in Dark Poets III, the Percy Undergraduate Journal, and was a finalist in Slam of the North 2025.