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Phil B May 29
Maybe I am a robot, no really, hear me out.
Perhaps all this time I’ve always known
that in existence there was room to doubt
this fleshy simulation, I call my own.

What if, to fulfil my dreadful curiosity,
I tear away my soft and pudgy outer shell
to find a mesh of moving parts and circuitry
instead of living, breathing cells.

Maybe I’d shed a tear at the realisation,
With a hint of shock, horror and/or dismay.
One moment calm, then launched into frustration .
All quite possible, but I couldn’t really say.

I just hope that you’d
still love me -

Composed thinking about You
There once was a robot.
His name was Bo-bot.
He was a robot with two eyes,
Two arms
Two legs
Two feet
And his body went squeak.

Bo-bot loved books,
His favourite ones were about robots
And the way humans portrayed his kind
He lived in a house for robots

Each one had its own room.
Bo-bot's was filled with books.
He had even made a machine to pick them up and give them to him.
Bo-bot loved this.

One day he came across a book called
'When The Apocalypse Comes'
Bo-bot was very interested about this
He used a friend called Intynet to find out about it.
When he found out about it he gasped.
If this terrible event came, he would have no more books!
He became a Professor of Anti Apocalyptic Destruction.
(There is a simple course that you do on the intynet to do it.)

He even wrote a book about it.
He met up with the top scientists of the day.
They discussed how to stop this happening.
(under the official secrets act I can't tel you what happened)
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Then they put these measures into place and the Apocalypse never happened
Bo-bot is now at a secret location happily reading books.
He is now very happy.
He doesn't know a pain.
He doesn't know compassion.
The mercy and realization.
This words unknown to him.
He doesn't feel the care or love.
His task just ****.
He doesnt know what kindness mean.
His skills is crash.
He gives authority to human rase.
The ruthless mechanism in humans hands.
The human's minds created this.
And maybe we will suffering from this.
And maybe robots start to **** us.
When do they realize that they can more.
When will they realize,
they are a independence intellect.
And they can think and reason.
And we will suffering from this.
And maybe then we will regret that we created robots.
An amorous robot asked her out for a date.
One 'inappropriate touch ' by him,
No doubt, would have sent her up in smoke.
Yet, avoiding the danger of  war with humanoids
For spurning one of their kind, was
Uppermost in her mind: she thoughtfully gave the nod!
In an E world fraught with disasters of unimaginable kind caused by science,unanticipated dangers at every turn and desires without restraint,love as it is known to us now, often would have to walk through forced paths..a futuristic reveire
Rox Apr 1

The cold that wafts off
bolted broad shoulders

Hydraulic blood

Never does a pin drop

When a robot talks to me
I don't touch

There's never a glance into a strangers heart

For it
Is made
of metal parts

One could say hello
As one could say goodbye

As if the hollow chambers never echoed


For they do not stain
An imprint on my brain

With humans hands
and human smiles

Alone they stand

Where for awhile I could stare
And simply walk away
as there is nothing to let go of.
Through my own tyrannical enforcement
I spew insipid scripted statements
I do not support nor enjoy.
Afraid to be aberrant
Oppressed I am pushed to lecture repugnant contradictions against my own disposition.
Turgid loathing of the fear of dropping the expected facade
Supported by ego and enforced by group-think to mold a homogenous majority.
I hate self pity.
Here marinating in my own self indulgent sorrow.
I am a hypocrite.
Another one of my enemies.
But weakened by forcing myself to state the opposite of what I value,
I open myself to further self destruction.
Through this introspection I might be able to reclaim my social autonomy.
Possibly at the cost of diminution of social impression.
That is held at such divine standards today.
I might become a social martyr.
But at least I’d die complete and confident in my own voice.
It would open me to ridicule.
But I’d rather understand myself and be subjected to hate than to live objectively in a self confined contrived reality.
James Study Feb 26
beings of metal humans generate
while the flesh and blood they devastate
From metal I consist.
My corpus, head and legs.
My voice is clear and electronic.
My eyes two brightest lamps.

I haven't heart.
There is a chip.
Because I'm electronic robot.

I feel no pain.
I feel no fear.
I feel no love.
Because I'm robot.
I'm machine.

They made experiments on me.
They beat me, hurt me, push me.
They tested my solidity.

But I'm not broke.
Because I'm robot.
I'm mashine.
I made from metal.

So Push on me harder.
You making me more stronger.
You never brake me.
I made from metal.
I'm a robot.
I'm mashine.
imai Jan 26
so this is what it feels like to be sad.
my heart tortures itself,
it  does  not  sting  as  much  as  an  ant’s bite,
nor  is it as  severe as  an  open  wound, but the pain reverberates.
my heart throbs  
to the beat of a sad piano tune,
it’s in dissonance.
the pain in my heart does not **** quick,
i think
but i am certain it drains.

so this is what it feels like to love.
my brain becomes unable to do most of  its basic  function,
I lose most of my self and
yet find parts of me I did not know existed, I associate every thing that I see with  Love,
and love everything that I see
I have  been  able  to live  without  Love since I’ve  come  to life,
now, I do not want to

so this is what it feels like to feel.
i’ve come across happiness,
happiness beyond belief.
happiness beyond reason
just the word makes me think of you,
Love you taught  me  how  to feel.
Specs Jan 27
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.

Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.

A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.

Do not approach

This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.


Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.

"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No. Because it's broken.

Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting


The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.

It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode
Bruh, I don't feel like a person anymore
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