Who would you be
If tomorrow you were to wake up without a job to go to
Who would you be
If tomorrow you were to wake up to your cubicle, your colleagues, your identity as an employee, wiped off, as if a clean slate
Would you still matter
Would you still be relevant
Who would you be
If tomorrow you were to wake up without a family to call your own
Who would you be
If tomorrow you were to wake up to you being a parent, a child, a sibling, a friend, a lover, completely forgotten as if a distant dream
Would you still be someone
Would you be anyone at all
It's rather ironic that a world obsessed with claiming individuality is in actuality, nothing but a rather inexpensive photocopy machine
Churning out clones of existences deluded in their false sense of identity
Take away their delusion and watch them crumble, their hollow insides shedding skin like the stale ash of an overburnt cigarette
Existential crisis isn't everyone's glass of whiskey, after all
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