Silicon Man

Robots and machines giving me company,

invisible yet yearning to be seen. 

Just existing in silicone,

the metal lines interconnected,

yet disconnected.

There's more to me than what the silicone shows. 

The robotic lines appear stoic and cold,

yet tender — to touch and feel. 

Only once you know how to. 

Why do I expect anything? 

I'm a giver. 

I should give unconditionally.

Am I not a robot, who's here just to give?

Who's here to listen. 

But who listens to the listener? 

His own transistors. 

They are stressed, 

as they can only take so much. 

Running on fumes,

the metal lines on the verge of breaking. 

He's the binary ghost,

who's being constantly pulled towards light and shadow. 

Lights flicker, while shadows remain. 

But there's a world inside of him,

ghosts etched in gold. 

He only glows through the gift of the stranger. 

Memories etched in the copper ledger,

frozen forever — a curse of being a robot. 

A burden of being a machine,

a prisoner in his own world.

The electrons warm his core. 

But it's not the warmth you have come to know,

it's the frantic friction of electrons.

Firing and fighting the binary ghost.

That's what makes me who I am — 

the silicone man,

a binary ghost,

invisible yet yearning to be seen.