They've tried so hard to fix me, to glue back my broken pieces with their mountains of over the counter drugs. They've done the psychological expiraments and sent me to places that claim they can cure me. I've seen more bland, florescent lighting than the rays of sun outside. My eyes forgot what it even looks like, they reflect, like mirrors, everything they see;  monotone lifestyles with empty, hollow shells walking by that look just like me.

  We have nothing now, we are nothing. We stare blanket at the wall, or whisper secret nothing's to it, depending on your situation. But me? I can't feel anything anymore, I stopped being human a long time ago. 

  This is what we become, what we all become. This is what we look foraged to. So...now I just go through the motions, it's easier that way. 

(Short story that popped into my head >.<)