There is something wrong with my programming.
It's the the way I was manufactured.
Wires are crossed and some are missing entirely.

I'll probably short circuit again. Life will leave my eyes as they roll back into my skull and I'll fall down and I'll look dead. If I'm lucky my head will bang into the table and I'll fall on the floor and bruise myself everywhere.
It'll prove I'm still alive.

It's not pleasant, but it's a human thing to do.
Computers don't have seizures.

Old poem that I spruced up a bit. About my experience with dissociative seizures.

His heart was like winter,
Cold but exciting.
My most favorite season,
With crisp piercing lighting.
Adventures and chills,
Through my messy black hair.
Sharp, lovely breeze,
Through the whispering air.
But as the show thickened,
The ice became tough,
And I shivered and realized,
My coat wasn't warm enough.

Haven't seen the dude in like four years and he's out of the country where is my mind.

I was built with an iron will and a weak soul.

I was made by the best, and built to take a hit.

You can tell I was made to be hit and not hit on.

Haha.

But despite the way I'm supposed to work...

I might as well malfunction now.

Recharging batteries...

I am robot.
Built for entertainment.
Bringing smiles and laughter.
My creators gave me a rockin' role.

Inside me.
Ones and zeroes play.
But blues runs through my circuits.
My audience have no clue to my code.

Elvis lives.
A king among kings.
Rusting from the inside out.
An iron heart with a human smile.

...

I'm hollowing out.
You put me through the wringer.
What do you want from me?
I gave you all I could off me.
.
I told you not to break my heart..my trust.
I loved you with ALL of my soul.
Seems it was all for nothing.
I've been broken before.
I loved you.
I meant every kiss.
.
I don't know what to feel.
My feelings are dissolving away with each tear.
I..am..a..robot.
.
You don't know the extent of my past.
You don't know how battered I've been.
The lengths I've been dragged through.
The secret I keep within.
.
Don't push me too far off the edge because I will not wake up to you.
I have so much pain inside.
Mental & emotional abuse hits the hardest.
.
I feel myself dying inside again.
The light keeps fading from my eyes.
My heart keeps beating off tune.
It's sitting fragile in my chest.
My skin keeps aching for an electric touch.
My mind is so far away.
I keep reaching out to pull it back but it's getting harder & harder.
.
Worst part is that no one cares..
When I'm not here don't look for me.
Wherever I need people the most they take the knife and twist it in harder.
.
Don't look for me.
Don't speak to me.
Don't touch me.
Don't hurt me ever again.

9/17/17

Dragging my knuckles on the sidewalk
      I find myself hoping for a spark
     that would confirm my mechanical makeup
        Titanium and servos buried mere inches beneath faux flesh
        Scraping concrete

         Friction, it would seem,
           is the only force powerful enough to reveal me to myself

A H S Jul 13

I lost it
I can't remember
When

I lost
emotion

One day it
Just left me

One stupid
Green pill

Took away
Everything

My joy and sadness

All for what

To turn me into
A robot

I am a fake

Everyday my body
Gets abused
By the stupid
Green pill

Which caused more
Pain than it took
Away

I cried for weeks
After

For no reason at all

Just a lack of emotion

The shitty effects of anti depressants. When a family member dies and you can't feel anything. Looks of disappointment and disgust attack my face
M Norris Jul 6

Labour all day to make another man's dime.

I find myself on the wrong side o' this paradigm.

Turn on the television, distract me from my career.

There's a newsman speaking, I'm sorry I didn't hear.

There's a politician speaking, I'm sorry, it's not very clear.

There's an army of robots marching, excuse me while I blankly stare.

let me lose my mind to the screen.

jingle your keys before me.

I am bereft  of independent thought,

what our ancestors predicted this was not.

For those on top, this is what they want,

an army of robots bereft of thought.

Because the drudgery of life can be a festival of mediocraty
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