Smashing the opponent...

Is it better to suffer quietly the indignation of our own hearts and minds than to voice our tribulations loudly, even if the body will not be comforted by such screams?

Screaming alone in the forest of the world, surrounded by trees with no cures for our wounds will no sooner heal us than simply remaining silent.

And yet, why are we compelled to question the silence of our pain. As if it would somehow relieve the sting of the cuts and gashes, we contemplate the possibility like a child, fearing that perhaps in our fervor, we would simply open these wounds further, spilling our lives and blood and tears onto the cold, unforgiving forest floor.

Perhaps we hear the cries of others, far out of reach, and choose to cry back, hoping to comfort each other with what little semblance of sanity each of us has left. But as we hear the cries, we may find they only remind us of our own handicap, and so the cries become more shrill, and more frightening.

I often curse my face for having lips, as they merely provide me with a means to further my own wounds. Would that I was born without them, for having the option to use them is simply too great a responsibility for a soul such as myself. My mind works against itself in a struggle that occurs constantly. As if one half were laughing at the other, every word is full of regret, and every unspoken syllable a lavish thought, aborted before it can begin. The though of saying, and the thought of not saying spiral endlessly until words and thoughts become hated so much that silencing the mouth is not enough to quell the tremors of my mind. Paranoia is a powerful motivator, but true fear will drive one insane.