Nuts and Bolts

So I get up. Lately the sun has beginning to scratch itself into my eyes and that has been my source of an alarm clock, this must mean spring is just around the corner. Pulling back my sheets I wash and dress to look like I look almost everyday but with something very subtle just to spice it up and keep those close around me on their toes. Vaguely I can recall what is being told to me, droned into my ears by some sort of machine everyday as I sit in a wooden desk only to get up and sit back down in another one. Tapping my pencil passes the dragging time.
Looking around at all the other blank faces, or those distracted by mutual boredom, I can feel my brain becoming a little more distorted each time and question everything I view around me. Why are we all sitting here when this machine looks at us as just another number, another letter, another bolt in their large desk that they think will get them somewhere. Maybe to some of these machines, we are another figure in their salary. I cannot help but think to myself of how depressing it is that I am actually seated calmly in these places five out of seven days of my week, spending my time doing what it is I do not feel necessary anymore. It is all just a veal-fattening pen so that they can prime us up and shove us into those neat little holes that have our specific numbers on them since birth, but so many people feel it right to blindly ignore this. Really, I am the one at a lose here because I can see the destruction of individualism within these instiuitions and it is driving me insane because I am forced to be in one of them. Forced to lay back and pretend everything will be alright whereas my insides are churning. When will a day arise when we no longer have to comply to the thoughts of our elders and we are able to do what we believe is right? This is not chaotic, it would just result in a truly free, individualistic society. I yearn for it, but I know that if I had it there would be little chance I would want to stay in it. Just as I, now, wish not to stay in this one.
Draping feelings of loneliness capture themselves in my eyes which begin to look dead behind faulty lines of make-up, they grasp for some kind of sanity in this daily life of routine and realism. Little escapes reach my fingertips on late evenings and short weekends in the form of metal strings, burnt pages, broken pencils, destilled laughter, soft kisses, and sheets of a substance that caress the soul I can only set free on the rare occasion.
Time slips like sand through my scrawny fingers that feel rather broken now. I guess I will have to let my feelings fade, this system will not change drastically anytime soon (even as everybody can now see the harsh effects of their actions). There will always be few of us who sit at the back of these classrooms with a contorted look on our faces as the teachers try to teach us something they barely have interest in themselves, questioning the reason for all of which is being shoved reluctantly into our heads. Will there ever be a time when the world will see true freedom and individualism? Is there a point where my eyes will befall on a true creative reality amongst human beings? Or will these strong vibrations of hope continuously be crushed and flattened by this machine? I cannot answer any of these questions, but I do know that I am not another bolt. I am a perpetual motion machine, restlessly trudging forwards throughout the mud begging for a long-lasting escape into a different dimension of self.