Tin Man's Grandson

There's nothing more that's left undone.  I know now what I am... a robot, stimulated by stimulus, responsive--I speak no language other than what binary code can understand.  Flesh begone, bystander flesh... flesh poured on and melded over wire sinew and a semi-enforced titanium structure.  Communicate darling, I'm programmed to feel--smell the sweet lavender hair with the receptors in my artificial nose.  IMPRINT ME on your faded skin.  Dazzle me with you painted eyes, tin can lust on a Saturday night.  Move me, meandering half TWITTED robot soul brother.  I am a third generation descendant of the tin man--evolved into my celluloid heart that mimics the sound and rhythm of so many of you.  Turn me on, shut me off, no matter--beneath my platicine eyes are the animatronics of a 1,000 emotions--truly I'm indifferent, no matter what I'm programmed to show. Use me, control me, wrong me, lie to me, it's all good if it turns you on--they'll erase my hard drive every 75 years anyway.  Don't like me, get a new one, there's plenty more humans in the ocean.