Clockwork (not orange)

Judgmental looks scream out her sins. She listens attentive, under excruciating pain. The turpentine-like stream of thoughts avoiding any backflow of reason in her mind keeps her sane. At least for a while.
A chill disappearing down her spine makes the entire body ache. The unstoppable sensation of cold grinds the very essence of newly numbed limbs. Like a permanent void spreading roots within the inside, the contrast results irreverent with the warmth of gently sloping tears. Yet no sensation in the skin. Dulled, going to waste…the gradually fading colors of a once fire-lightened life finished slipping away during a fresh, mid-spring evening.
She stops.
The clockwork inside begins disintegration. The mechanism starts to fail, the turning parts of machinery that used to fit one over the other, now disrupt the motion.
Something breaks.
Confusion in the system terminates in a short-circuit. The cables unpeel, exposing loose ends. Connections start failing until a buzzing sound announces the nearness of the end. With a last conquering spark,
The organization collapses.