Break
The crevices of his brain, seeping the blood of ideas. His motivated had crashed, his ideas were being crushed before they even entered his mind. The mind, a fortress of ideals, creation, and inspiration, had fallen. It had fallen to the slavery of society. It had been crushed by the wave of human servitude. Servitude to the box, the man, the ideals of a perfect human specimen. They didnt understand his ideas, they didnt want to, they never tried. His ideas, crushed to blood and sacks of lost potential. He had wasted his potential away at a job with no meaning, a life without inspiration, friends with no passion. He had wasted his entirety slaving to a machine he would never meet, an idea he never conceptualized, a royalty he never elected. This idea of society, of a greater good, of a planned life never spoke to him. He pushed back as a kid, tried to live different. He tried to feel, to see, to experience the things around him. A world full of color eventually killed by the thick pudgy hands of a figure head, a cover up of humanities worst deed, society.
