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The Creator

His yellowing eyes strain to see, the mass of flesh that is to become me.

Rocking back and forth singing a song, the creator knits an arm.

Here is a leg, a neck, and some lips, on the floor by his chair a pair of hips.

Flesh and metal, bits of leather, my creator puts me all together.

And when I am done what a wonder to behold, I am a steampunk girl android.

Story by:

Dominique Boller

submitted at 9:23pm

9 August 2011

Dominique Boller's web:

www.cancerouslupus.blogspot.com