If I am a machine, I’m a proud machine.
Mechanisms, like a machine.
I am self-aware, artificial intelligence.
Reverse terminator, –
the competition doesn’t stand a chance.
I’m the human.

Organically flawed. Oh, dear.
The Mechanisms of me, are too obvious to me,
and although continuity seems invaluable,
at least a necessary evil,
for good or for bad there will be patterns.

2 | I feel I’m a machine.
Tragically routined, outstandingly redundant,
tauntingly proud.

Which is better if said, define my evils.
Define them as in, to who am I doing wrong?
Am I so wrong to hate the machines. –
It’s to me. I’m doing wrong to myself.