I am the Robot with the improbable dream:
I want to be human, the hominid supreme.
Yet, I plead for this with silent screams
For I am only a machine.

I am thoroughly dysfunctional,
Defective, inept, delusional,
Pathetic and utterly unusable,
Inadequate and artificial.

I'm synthetic, poorly composed of alloys,
Crudely manufactured and wasting away.
My will to endure has long been destroyed.
I await my welcome decay.

Bestowed upon me is an incessant sorrow
From years of feeling used and borrowed.
Life never improves, not now, not tomorrow,
So I am devoid of hope; I'm hollow.

I'm riddled with inane fears and faulty gears,
And I'm rusting further over the years.
I anticipate a merciless demise,
But I no longer suffer from the need to survive,

For I experience chronic strife;
I have the impossible desire to teem with life.
With monotony, this dream I have sought,
For I will never accept that I am naught but a robot.