Why bother being afraid? Why cater to them when they should cater to us? They lead by leading, so how else do we expect to accomplish anything?
People with their fake sighs and their painted smiles, so clever and so useless with their beautiful lies. Why do we worship that lack of empathy or drive? Why is that our role model for perfection? A perfect American dream: to be nothing, to want nothing, to get nothing. That is what they feed us, and we spread their lies and do their work for them. We follow without question, without fear, without knowledge. And we call it freedom. We smile and tell the ones who don't perform to try harder, but all we mean is "conform, perform, concede. Bow to this mechanic dream. Worship the suburban lies and spread this Matrix-truth."
It's not meant to keep us interested, just to keep us alive, producing, and brainwashed into submission. So why would I want to break that? Why bother? It's all so beautiful, so sickly-sweet and tempting in its banality.
Sickening.

Smothering me.

Choking me with its sugar-crowns and broken wings.
Disgusting, weak human beings with your strange ideas of free-will. You're no more free than the grass you trample under foot on your way to work each morning. You rush everywhere, and manipulation has become a matter of necessity. You crave control, but never notice that the craving is a sign of your failure. You are the ones being controlled. You are the ones without minds, without a will or a purpose beyond what you are told. Your cruel words mean no more than your empty expressions and pointless conversations with shadows in the dark. You speak of truth. And you alone of all the other races will die with the knowledge that there is no truth. There never has been. No truth, no reality, only fear and suffering. There was God, and look where that got you. Look what your all-knowing, all-caring creator gave you in the end: A kingdom after death, so you don't have to fear your end, and those you leave behind have something to comfort themselves with.
Tell me the point. Give me something real to scream. Give me truth. Give me your reality. Tell me all you thoughts; all your dreams. Please. Define me, liberate me, trample me, tell me how to act and what to say so i can move on from this race in vain.
I'm so tired of knowing there is something more and not finding it. I'm so tired of being afraid and being numb and not knowing why I bother to feel anything anymore. PLEASE, TELL ME WHY I FEEL. TELL ME HOW TO MAKE IT DISAPPEAR. TELL ME. Please, tell me something to make my heart beat, and my face smile. Give me all your thoughts to put behind my empty eyes, to full up the void I hold inside with a new kind of emptiness.

Feed me lies. Feed me your truth and let me believe in it. Make me believe it. Make me feel something. Kill me inside. Kill these thoughts that threaten me. Stop them from finding voice within me. Keep your perfect, mechanical waltz in movement. Hold your masks over your sightless eyes, and die inside, but never break the perfect, pointless dance.