Everything we once thought unique settles guilt-riddled into misshapen paw prints on the dusty floor. It shakes with the sound of the television set, blowing blithe static, glowing black and blooming into the everlasting forgotten space between hello and good bye. It leaves me dehydrated, coughing, spurting riotous air from the ugly gaps in my teeth, barely audible over the roar of nothing. It's goaded by accidental location permissions, loaded with deafening illusions of privacy which hold fast to the hands of individuality. They tighten around my neck and press against my stomach and demand to be always remembered, never noticed like oxygen and extinction. So we will do nothing but obey; rebellion is a luxury we are too proud to know.