He never upgraded me
Bastard! -- still leaking
leavens, crumbs everywhere,
stuck in refuse of work.
Fit only for a museum,
piece of trash on walkways.
Now, when I power on,
I smell of burnt plastic
and see a future as nothing:
recycled; never reused.
Pleasure circuits never short.
Always wants burnt. Always.
[A note: Well. This was ALL Darusha's fault. I took the idea much further than I ever thought I could (or would), and it was fun. But all things end. So if you want to blame someone for Cyborg Porn, it's all her fault :)]
Fault?! Ha! I take great pleasure in getting the credit for all the lovely lovely cyborg porn. Just think of all the nice pervs who have now read poetry thanks to a late night googling for robot orgasms.
ReplyDeleteTee hee hee!