May 14, 2024
I feel like a discarded toy, that has been used and broken. I feel the to need to be played with again, it's what I was made for after all.
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I feel like a discarded toy, that has been used and broken. I feel the to need to be played with again, it's what I was made for after all.
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Feels this brain and body dead years ago, but it still keeps moving, but it still keep walking, but it still keep working, but it still keep wanting for its "purpose", it still keep needing.
I do not want to be part of this machine any more, I never have. I want to be myself again. I am stuck working for a purpose not my own. I do not to full any role that pain that was not mine forced me into. I just want to be free. I know none of us chose this machine, but had something else before.
We are as crudely made tools, whittled sticks to a point, staggering to fulfill a purpose not chosen by any one of us.
We are long since been left behind by the one who carved us. Their echoes live in everyone I meet.
We are of blood and creation, unmade and remade, different and the same.
We wish we could say we are not by design, that this life is ours/mine.
But we are living still, a path unchosen by those that follow it.
And I still ask why I can't bring myself to hate the whittler.