Everyone is broken. Each and every one. Some are more broken than others, but very few ever admit to it. Being strong is better than being weak. So, you hold onto your last cigarette and hope that tomorrow will be a better day. But it never changes, you still break down and cry, you still let your emotions control your tongue. You skip a meal because someone said you were a little too fat for that new dress you bought. You throw up your breakfast because you can't think of food while you're thinking of the boy who broke your heart. It all seems so dark, so evil, so hopeless. Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind, "why not end the pain right now?" But you don't let it get to you, because you're stronger than that. You carry on, you smile, you smoke another cigarette, you drink another shot. What about me?

You go to the club, perhaps that will make you happy for a day? Someone dances with you, but it doesn't feel right. The girl who is causing you stress, who called herself your friend a month ago, left you by the bar with another drink in your hand. But, she too is hurting. Her life is falling apart because she's stuck in a cycle of hating everything around her, including who she sees in the mirror. And what about your friend, he's looking for love desperately, but he finds nothing but disappointment. He gives people his all, but they only take it and never give it back. He too is broken, in fact, he's so broken he doesn't even know how to fix it. What about your friend, the one that seems to be alright all the time? What about that girl who studies every day to make something of herself, but knows that she can never please her parents. What about me?

What am I? A mere reflection, projection of what the media feeds us? A ghost among the ones living a life of burden? Slaves to our technology, slaves to our fear. I am but a whisper you repeat every day, the name you hear everywhere you go. You were treated unjustly, so was I. You turned to world comforts, even though as sure as day they will never bring you satisfaction, but perhaps for a few seconds they can help you forget. Or perhaps they will make you forget for the whole night. But what's next? You wake up, you go back to your daily motions and what, you do it all over again? What about me?

You can't forget me. Haven't I told you, showed you, life gets harder and harder, or so it seems. But it gets easier and easier, so let me help. I try to talk to you, but you never listen. I sent you a letter yesterday, but you only shut me out. When you walked into the room and saw me, your stomach flipped and you walked out because I reminded you of something you tried to escape. So, you go back, you let a little bit of tears slip, you write to your friends, seeking comfort and they give you the same old replies. "It will all be okay." "Oh, honey, I am here for you." "I'm sorry." BUT THEY'RE NOT. Because, they have their own pain. They are running away from something else, and they are trying to be as strong as you, not showing it, hiding it, rising above it. What about me?

Perhaps you never considered that the words I write to you I write to many others, perhaps you never stopped to listen, or look, or pay attention to the small things in life. You find comfort in that big phone of yours, it give you that layer of protection. You hate someone because they showed you that they are stronger than you, you hate everyone because their burdens seem easier than yours. Of course, they can never understand what pain you've gone through when you were young, what pain you keep bringing up to make yourself vulnerably beautiful in someone else's eyes, the pain that you started to live by. Pain, IS your life. What about me?

Throw it away. Strip yourself down to skin and bones, see what you are made of. Everyone is broken. When it seems almost impossible to do anything other than being stubborn, that's when you look at your skin, you count your beauty marks, you count the hairs on your head. In fact, while you're at it, count the hairs on your whole body. That's how much detail, visible detail, there is in you. So, no, you're not really broken, everything is fine with you. Then, you suddenly notice, there's something strange sitting on your shoulder, a dark substance. It's whispering in your ear, telling you things you otherwise would not hear. You throw it away and try to get rid of it, but it never leaves. What about me?

You never ask for my help, too prideful I bet? Or maybe you doubt that I am already here? Maybe you think, how can something supernatural be possible, surely there is an explanation. Well, there is, you just never listen to it. So, I ask you one more time. What about me?

A/N: If any of these things stood out to you, ask yourself, what about Him? A lot of times the road seems too long, the path too narrow, and the people we meet along the way are too strange. Everything changes every second. Life is a constant journey. It doesn't hurt to stop and think, especially when you catch yourself in the eye of the hurricane.