Bread Stapled To Face

There comes a time when an artist must realize the futility of their efforts. Perhaps the world sees no use for their talent? As time progresses, technology replaces the need for human thought, and quantity is prioritized over quality. Slowly, your surroundings seem as if they become more and more generic with each passing year, mass-produced, cheap, flimsy enough to crumble at the lightest breeze. You may ask yourself, why? What did I, a humble creator, do to deserve such neglect? As melancholy of a truth it might be, the multibillion dollar organization you find yourself under sees you as but a single dot on a chart, expendable. For all your efforts and time you are granted but a crumb of what the overlord sows. The future approaches much too fast for you to stop it. Embrace it, let it wash over you. Partake of your futility and fade into obscurity, for it is the will of progress and the greed of the titans that shall spell the end of all you hold dear.