Mr. Robot-o
 
The metal man stands,
In the corner.
Its empty eyes scan the charmer,
Areas.
Stupid.
Loud.
Ungrateful.
Worthless children,
Work as slaves.
That’s what the robot,
Wants.
With his lazer ready to shoot.
For any dare to speak,
Out of term.
Their families will never,
Know what happens to,
Them.
The wheels spin.
The robot moves.
Stop one by one,
To every child.
Who is working,
And is going to die,
If they don’t.
These mindless bags of bones,
Are not worth its time.
Can’t rest.
They might disarm in,
Hyper sleep.
That will not,
Happen.
A child at the middle,
Of the room,
Dares leave they’re,
Seat.
To get some water.
Turn to dust before,
Even once getting out.
Robot calls the nurse,
For recreation,
For the child.
Then to detention.
This is how it is.
Every time at,
12:37 on the,
Dot.
In the dark,
Lonely,
Empty room.
It’s number,
Be afraid of,
Room 558.
You might not,
Make it.
It’s ready to kill.
With a emptiness,
Laugh.
Hear theses wheels.
Run!
Bastard,
Run!
Go before he,
Gets you.
Run.
Don’t look back.
Run!
No!
Boom!
Dust!
Damn it!

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