Is there a need, like any other, a need to feel broken inside? Could there be a need to be torn apart, just as soon as things are put back together? Is it the same as the need for food, water and shelter?Or is it a choice, but why would he want to feel broken? Why would he want to be shattered to the core? Ripped apart and exposed for the world to see. Could he crave for his insides to be spread along the sidewalk, out there in the open for scrutiny?
Why would he pick and dig at the scab, over and over again, to feel the blood pool and pour down his limbs? His very life flowing and trickling, it's dripping from his cold fingertips.
Boy, why are you so sad? Why do you cry and weep, when there is no sane reason behind your pain? Why must you sit in your corner to wallow in long ago memories? Memories when the sun shone brightly and kissed your freckled skin?
Boy, run outside. You will see the world is still dazzling, even though it may be night. See how the moon illuminates your rosy cheeks? Boy, look down at your silver skin; oh how it shines and lights up my world.
Boy, there is no need for you to be broken, for you to cry or for you to bleed. No, there never was a need to be broken. Only a need to be found.
