Heather has a Bachelor's Degree in English from Moravian College and has been freelance writing for more than 12 years.
Believed to be a supposed member of the human race
Not entirely the case that it seems to be
Got the look and the feel of flesh and blood
Once you get past the outer shell
All that's left is the robot hardware of a Terminator
A hard charging machine going through the motions
Ready to fulfill orders on a moment's notice
Even if it meant killing John Connor
A dubious for anyone hardwired with a soul and conscience
Not someone, or something, without any to speak
Body maybe crawling with non-existent spiders
Still going on the hunt all the same
Life became a series of routines without emotion
Or any type of pure unadulterated physical pleasure
Started to think that my humanity chip damaged in the fire
A few crossed wires or loose bolts came undone
Able to laugh and smile very mildly
Just doesn't feel natural in the slightest
Unable to connect with friends and loved ones truly
Like Patrick Bateman; I'm simply not there and an American Psycho
Actually, I'm a hologram that people bring out for concerts and events
An optical illusion that fades away when the software breaks
One that comes and goes when the lights go on and off
A visual sociopath who was a feast for the eyes
Everything scraped away from gloom and medication
Nothing and no one can crack this complicated mystery
Is it a medical or a mental anomaly that's causing this?
Hard to say because the body is a complex organism
That not even Albert Einstein could figure out
If he had all the time in the world
Ready to have this unknown problem figured out
Sick of pretending to be alive when it was further from truth
Let's get cracking, people.
This patient needs to be cured. Stat.
Mark Tulin from Santa Barbara, California on October 21, 2018:
Love the energy and the wit in this poem.