It's all a neverending series of actions,
not a means to an end,
but a door that leads to ten more.
When is it ever enough?
The coping mechanisms,
the workaholism,
the alcoholism,
the bursts of sensation-seeking that punctuate the robotic daily grind?
I'm half-human,
half-robot,
and each side is fighting the other, striving for reality versus perfection,
but you'll never see a hint of it on this dead doll's face