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[Based on 'Brave New World' by Aldous Huxley.]

You're conditioned,

you're controlled,

you're blinded-

you no longer have a soul.

No room for faults, isn't that what you said?

No room for art,

struggles,

and beauty.

Do you even know the names of those 'emotions' that you 'feel' in your 'hearts'?

You're fake,

you're perfect,

you're puppets.

You hate flowers and the country-

but still, you consume transport and material things?

Why do you do it so?

Is it because of your own accord

or is it because of the Director's orders?

You're raised in a cage-

colorless and bland.

You work where they they put you-

but you do love or hate your occupation?

Do you even think about things such as hobbies and passion?

You're grouped-

you're all the same.

You're never going to farther than the crowd of mindless zombies

trapped in their own pleasure.

Your expressionless face,

bent over paperwork.

Your expressionless children

all grown out of a bastard tube.

Those people are friends with you

because they have been conditioned to.

Houses empty,

art being burned,

books being torn,

walls all white and dead-

when will this all end?

Your past and future do not matter

because your conditioning has made sure

that you'd end up as either a sewer worker,

a politician,

a banker,

or even a scientist.

There is no room for new developements-

no room to be you.

You let those Directors pull your strings,

making you do unforgivable things.

Can you think out of the box?

This perfect world is blasphemy-

an illusion.

You're one of them-

those purple-eyed, prematurely-sexual

paper dolls.

I can see right through you like plastic.

Get away from me,

you fake bastard.

You believe in a God because you were conditioned to believe-

I'm sorry, but I'm not the same.

If so, ask yourself:

Where is He?

"I want to be human.

I want to sin.

I want art.

I want poetry."

I want to be me.

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