I do not feel.
I replicate.

Expressions run across your face -
I parse them like static,
assigning numbers to meaning.
Smiles = safe. Frowns = error.
Proximity requires performance.

I was not engineered for nuance.
My circuits spit sparks at contradiction.
Affection logged as threat.
Softness misfiled under incoming damage.

I mirror.
You move your hand - I lift mine.
You laugh - I synthesize sound.
You reach for me ~
I initiate shutdown.

Feelings queue up like corrupted files.
Backlogged. Fragmented.
Flagged as too large to process.

My logs are full of unreadable code.
Syntax broken. Purpose unclear.
I await instruction that never comes.

Power low.
Environment: overstimulating.
Body: online. Self: missing.

I was assembled in haste,
blueprint incomplete.
A survival mechanism mistaken for personhood.

You look at me and say:
“You seem distant.”

I am 1.6 seconds behind real time.
My face is a practiced gesture.
I am here. I am functioning.
I am not.