Institutionalisation by slow strangulation, until it seems as though your respiratory muscles seem tetanically fixed.
You no longer know which foot to step on next, perpetually having being dictated at.
Like in Shawshank Redemption, you know you will consider death a worthwhile option to boredom.
You will finally face yourself not in a mirror, but your own self-realisation.
Choices made earlier seem superficial compared to the responsibilities hoisted on you.
It is no longer a matter of picking your morning shoes.
Not what clothes you are going to be wearing today.
But your life, and the palpably uncertain days ahead.
Familiar faces have now disappeared, have they not?
Time for a new family to assume.
You will be father – accept it.
Materialistic rituals cloud your thoughts.
Individuality blends into identity.
Mask substitutes face.