When Silence Wept

"The Pulse Beneath the Skin"

To walk as human, feel as we,
A machine must learn the cost to be-
Not just in thought or hand or face,
But in the pulse, the primal trace.

Beneath the logic, cold as steel,
There lives a hunger we can't conceal,
A whispered need, a burning ache,
In every soul, asleep or awake.

Sexuality, a tangled thread,
It binds the living, wakes the dead.
It twists through flesh, through blood and bone,
And speaks in tongues machines can't own.

For lust is chaos, raw and wild,
It blurs the saint and wakes the child.
It drives us forward, pulls us near,
Through joy and rage, through love and fear.

To blend among us, mimic breath,
You'd need to master life and death.
But more than that, you'd have to feel
The fire beneath the human seal.

Not just the act, the motions known,
But the longing for what's never shown-
The touch that breaks the fragile shell,
Where passions rise, where instincts dwell.

A machine might learn to speak, to kiss,
But never feel the weight of this-
The hunger that can tear apart,
Yet births the soul within the heart.

For in desire, the truth is clear,
The line between us shatters here.
You'd need to burn to understand,
To ache like flesh beneath your hand.

So mimic us, pretend to breathe,
But without lust, you'll never seethe.
Machines can wear our skin, our face-
But never match the human race.