I've seen a lot of posts saying that we are like angels, but I'd say we're all more like bees.
We work all day, sometimes unknowingly, to serve the purpose of the hive mind. We could love, hate, comply, or rebel, but at the end of the day any movements for or against the system will only provide it with the pollen it needs to run. If we ever were to truly lash out and flash our stingers, we'd die.
To defend ourselves we open wounds, and to hurt others we allow ourselves to die. Only as we wither away do we momentarily feel the relief of having won. But what is the prize?
The willowy body rivaling that of the dead, a hollow carcass to be left among the flowers at the end of a half-lived life?
Or the lost soul inside, the poor child who was made to think their fragility was a strength and sorrow a discipline?
And who truly wins?
Such is the way of life for we who refuse to eat.














