Shattered

If a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

The edge of the precipice is such a fragile thing; teetering but managing to maintain your balance, just thus. To both sides holds the unknown, though you can feel the madness emanating from the beyond. The tightrope holds familiarity, clutching to it as your only means of sanity.

If you fall into the unknown and no one is around to see, are you forgotten?

It's human nature to viciously hold onto the threads of sanity as if it were going to save you from the unavoidable madness; grasping at straws only to find yourself descending into the one thing you fear most; darkness. Through the journey of maintain the feeble light within us all, we thrust those around us into the abyss without a care.

How can we tell when something is truly broken, when we, ourselves, are barely complete?

Shattered on the ground below, can't find the pieces needed to make me whole. What happened to my heart? Did I unequivocally lose it along the way? The things I need are in utter chaos; within my head are a cacophony of thoughts. But when did I lose that childlike wonder and positivity?

The words of those abused haunt me, awake or asleep, I cannot escape. They echo through my mind as if it were a deep cavern and I a lonely adventurer. The past bouncing back to me like the sound waves on the cave's walls. Is there an escape from this?

Since when had self-confidence turned to self-deprecation and the imagination of the future turned into imaginings of death? If only I could track my descent into madness, for the trail of my hopes and dreams lay shattered at my feet.

I see the faces surrounding me, full of fake contentment, as life pulls them this way and that, but never attempting to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. They settle for what seems as happiness, only for life to drag them through the pits of Hell once more. They settle for their own versions of heaven, but what is heaven to those that haven't seen the light in so long? Even the simplest of minds can trick themselves into thinking Hell is heaven, down is up, and life is worth it.

If only I could make the ear-piercing screams for help in this solitary world end, but thus, a world of silence is worse than a world without light. I see their faux smiles, for it is human nature to show strength, never weakness, in the face of your demons. If your demons knew truly how weak you were, there would be no fight to win. And without fight, there would be no light. Without light, no life. But would that be so bad?

If someone dies unhappily, are they considered a failure?

We go through life expecting a fairy tale, but end up living through the Grimm and horrid world created by the monsters we call humans. When we are the villains in our story, our mind, our life, how can we expect refuge? We are all a damsel in distress; our minds the dragon guarding the princess. We walk around, wars raging in our minds, expecting to be saved. When will our dashing prince come to save us from the tower we've been locked in since leaving the womb?

We expect to go through life just waiting to die, but what's the point? A happily ever after that only exists in works of fiction? Blasphemy. We all function to conform to that which is ideal, but impossible. Those around us wish to morph us into their own ideals of perfection, and yet, perfection does not truly exist. Does that mean neither do we? Or are we only atoms drifting through the universe with no meaning and no cause? We are bound to witness our futures and lives rip at the seams while we sit back and watch our happily ever after shatter at our feet.

What is life but a mangled mirage of everything we have ever hoped for?

Are we all simply broken images of ourselves, with no chance to rebuild?

Are we bound to be shattered?