I'm screaming, but they can't hear me. Are my screams out of your hearing range? Can't you hear the noise that is surrounding my existence? What is wrong with the world? Why can't they see me? Is it because I'm wearing a mask? Don't ask me to take it off. You won't stand the sight of what lies beneath it. You'll see the bruises, contusions, marks and scars. By wrapping myself with the fake covering I'm only hiding the scars. Why does it mute my screams, then? There's so much noise in my head, why is it inaudible to the people around me? There's a mess of tangled thoughts inside my brains, how can it not be felt? If I can see what lies under their blank faces, why can't they see it for me then? Is it how it's supposed to be? I never wanted myself to get mired in my own existence. Where are the flowers, the butterflies, the stars and the moon? Where is the bitter sweet smell of caffeine and the smell and texture of the old book's pages? Why has chaos taken over the silence? Nobody is listening to me, everyone just walks away. They walk away leaving me in shambles. They walk away leaving me here to assemble my shattered self, all by myself. How can I gather myself together, if they are not willing to help me pick up my torn pieces? Even if I assemble myself together, bit by bet, I would need someone to put my last broken piece back together for me. I've been doing it, on and off. I complete this jigsaw puzzle of my broken pieces everyday but that last piece that just stays there waiting for someone to come and place it in its abode. Would anyone ever complete this puzzle? Does nobody want to see how does the full picture look like? Is this mess too much to be fixed? Would I be waiting on myself to get completed, forever?