I’ve come to be useful but all that’s happened is sitting idly in the corner on top of a table, crossing my legs elegantly like I have a purpose. My expression is like a mask, unseeing and emotionless, blank as a sheet with only the words “what do I do?”
I need direction, instruction, restrictions, a dictator. I am a puppet in need of a puppet master.Β 
What is a herd without their shepherd, a band without a composer, country without government, humanity without God, or science?
I contribute to the dull, by continuing to nervously run my fingers through my wiry hair and mindlessly checking my phone for a word of direction.
I stare at the hole in my converse shoe, wishing it would engulf me whole, like a black hole in the almighty void up above, hidden from my view by the yellow ceiling.
The light that flickers across the room- it shines on me like a spotlight, urging me to just do something- but naturally I have stage fright.
Is there anything I can possibly pull from my dusty hollow head that is supposedly invited by a sharp mind?


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