Robot

Electric arms. Rustly shoulders. Turning on and off. Shouldn't hurt, but it pinches a bit. Swallowing toxic oil. That is so tasty. But I can’t taste. And I can’t die for some reason. I don’t ask why. They ask me things. I’m a robot in that way. They ask me all sorts of things. That tickles me but I don’t react much. Just answer after 0.4 seconds. I wonder what it would be like to be a robot. I ask myself because I know. The cycle continues. Being a robot is not having a full range of motion with your limbs. But still having limbs of some sort. Having buttons that seemingly don’t do much. Electric arms. Rustly shoulders. A good attitude. That no one appreciates. A robotic voice. Whirling. Toxic burning inside. I can’t die for some reason. Which they say I shouldn’t care too much about.