Chiasma Crossed

To become a soulless, thoughtless zombie
To become an unfriendly, unfeeling machine
To become an irreverent yet irritable slob
To become dishonest, disgusting rattler
To become a head nodding bobby doll
To become a glib talking, greasy salesman
To have the life wrung out of you
To learn how to sell yourself
Do an MBA

Current Mood: Angry
Current Music: murmur

You became someone else
When you smiled for someone else
You died and can never be yourself again
You're not real, nor are your emotions
Your thought is borrowed
So are your devotions

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: dont remember