We are the broken people. The fallen souls. The shattered hearts. The twisted, constricted echoes of a hollow body. We don’t make a sound. We croon. We weep. We are always crying, fading away gradually from the inside. Our angst nibbles us every moment. It grazes us quietly as if we were its pasture.

Our shrieks go unheard. Silent muffled screams that don’t make it to fruition. Like mumbles they wither away into eternity. We bear tears like clouds holding onto an imminent downpour. They are always hanging there. Surmounted by our feigned ego and false strength.

It is hard to figure us out. You wouldn’t be able to recognize us. You can’t put a pin to our emotions. We trudge the earth like dinosaurs waiting for that dreadful meteor. Maybe eyeing that impending doom and waiting for it to swallow us whole.

We wish death. We seek it in every little thing we do. We prefer living on the edge.

We breathe in shadows. An abyss so dark and void of hope, we enjoy its presence around us. We love the way it engulfs us. We rejoice its gnawing. We wish to be eaten away.

Pain has no meaning for us. Because we are written in it. We relate to the fallen. There is a rare beauty in it that only we can perceive. The trampled leaves and crumpled grass appeal to us. Chewed up and spit out souls rivet us.

We aren’t afraid of the dark. We love to feel its claws on us, its punishing jaws that make a silent promise to tear us apart. Blood is a gift. Every smear is an orgasmic pleasure. We are penned in gore. We seek it in every act.

There is no path for us. Because to be honest, there is none. We know it is all in our head. We know everything will boil down to nothing. No matter what you do. No matter where you go. We are aware that we all are going to stay, right here.

We don masks. Masks of a fake smile, of a lying head that one can never see through. Every jovial act is ephemeral. Your laugh is evanescent. To us it is just a moment that shall pass. Long lasting is our woe. It will remain. Perennial!

We prefer the silence. Because it speaks. Bazillion words, if not for your ears, then for our heads.

We are omnipresent. We walk amongst you. Unseen. Unnoticed. Uncared. Yet we don’t worry. Because we know, nothing matters, and nothing ever will.

We are the broken people.