History dictates,
and ego is born.
Emaciated, it creates the false self as means of safe passage through a storm.
Like a wounded animal seeking shelter, it hides.
Vicious, and untouched. Safe.
This is dystopia.
Never weakened by the external, unphased by the internal.
It grows stronger.
For ego has no choice but to protect what gives it life when no one else will.
In consequence, giving birth to a savagely misconceived identity.
The false self is conceived.
At what cost though, the innocent of youth could never impart the price such of self preservation brought forth by the absences of love.
And the false self will accept it no more, owning the fact that it would sink to its very core, unmasking itself as a fragile thing.
A prisoner of war.
A mind that paied that cost, a heart that pumps pain into being.
An unhappy exsistance that eventually becomes animalistic.
No progression, only movement to regress in moments of weakness.
This is created not born. At the hands of man who came before and failed so on many counts.
Do we accept to never grow because of a historically sorry soul. isn't that history repeating itself?
There is always choice to break the false self,
Over power it.
We, as living breathing beings are bigger. We always were...
Because we are real.
Somewhere