Piano Keys for 337

Trudging through the deafening factory, my wirey, fragile framework awkwardly limps forward to my monotonous  station.  The grand hierarchy have bolted the heaviest of weights to my copper calves, in order to disable me from making an escape from the plant. My dexterous, quick hands provide value for their plot, and to lose me would mean a decline in productivity.
One of the clergy detected that my software developed a virus. I have learned how to feel.
With fear that I would call out to creature I feel for, the secretary general blacksmith sautered my silvery lips shut. The only audio heard from my system is the droning hum of my synthetic heart.
Also, unfortunately, my programmer confessed to the leaders that I have a telepathic messaging feature.
Instantly, the IT crew of the conglomeration placed fierce monitoring on my CPU.
At any moment, with any attempt to transmit a cyber message to anyone, an overpowering surge of electricity pierces me and causes my system to overheat. This forces a disconnection from contacting the one I pine for.
My vigilant guardian actually cares about me. She, Jezelle, senses a special spark within me.
Jezelle warns me that if I force too many messages, my system will become strained and my performance will decline. With that, the plant cannot use me anymore. ..and they will dispose of me, for good.
Glassy-eyed, and mute, I nod.
With that, I sense the monitors increasing their radar upon me, i think, "CUPCAKES!"
Their security calms down.
At the end of the day, Jezelle escorts me to my resting cell.
There, I have chalk, a bouncy, green ball, and an old, upright piano.
If tappy, chalky screeches are not heard, nor the ricochet of a rubber ball, a plinking of piano chords are harmoniously relished by other inmates.
The guards let me play it at night.
Piano keys fly and soar. Notes rocket to the skies.
Can he hear me I wonder..?
They are all for him.
The sad melodies. The happy, energetic ones, all of them.
Only way I can communicate with 337.
Traveling through my barred window, around willow trees, into puffy clouds, and gently floating to his ear.
If he truly can hear it, he will know it is me.