Human Factory

I want to stop feeling.

As much as I have become aware that humans are not machines, that there is an element to our existence that exceeds simple mechanical repetition, I have never more wanted to embrace the cold hard unfeeling metal and soulless drive to do what needs to be done, regardless of time, wearing down until I am so dilapidated with use that I simply expire from my capability.

Whatever uses emotions were meant to have have lost meaning in the insane maelstrom that causes me wonder toward the possibility that I am but heartbeats away from actual madness. The instability in my breathing and gait are not imagined. The pounding panicking heart inside my chest and wavering vision and hoarse voice paint me the picture every person needs to see. I am broken. I broke myself and just when function has become penultimate to survival, I made myself unusable.

Better to factory produce, check off the lists, drive toward oblivion knowing I accomplished something to atone for what I can't bring myself to face.