There was a time when I was naive enough to think parents and couples were bound to stay together forever.

There was also a time when I thought people human enough to mend each other and find peace within the wars.

But truly people aren't about peace.

Because if you stood up a really tall tower and dared yourself to look beyond you would see that the world possesses no peace at all. And you would see the immense turmoil and the gun shots and the wars that dwelled inside of it.

You would also see brother against brother. And you would see people dropping to the floor like flies, dead.

I've come to realize that it isn't the world that is so treacherous but in fact us.

Monsters aren't the ones with claws and sharp teeth that hide inside the closets or underneath our bed. Or the ones that lurk within the shadows ready to strike.

Those kind of monsters don't exist.

Humans are the real monsters. The ones that don't lurk within the shadows or inside of the closets.

Real monsters don't hide. And if they do it's almost never in the dark.

Real monsters lurk. But they lurk in the daylight. And they hide in plain sight.

Because the thing is they don't want to be hidden or unseen so they can strike at the moment you least expect.

Real monsters don't use the element of surprise. Because real monsters actually want to be seen.

Real monsters don't have claws or sharp teeth. Real monsters aren't ugly in fact at times there often beautiful.

Real monsters are smart. So smart that they caused the tragedies and destructions upon themselves. They invented these lethal things and called them guns and bombs.

Real monsters make laws but often fail to follow them. Real monsters are hypocrites.

Real monsters do in fact love. But the most treacherous ones don't. Real monsters cry, they feel. They hurt.

Real monsters feel emotion.

Real monsters are human.

I would tell you of all the wrongs that exist in your world, but I assume you  know already.

And I haven't the kind of time to explain to you how vile and despicable we monsters really are.

I haven't got forever.

Because thats the thing with us, time. Time is easy to run out but that hardly ever matters, its supposed to me forever, right? Or at least nearly.

But when it comes to us it isn't nearly forever. We don't have forever, we never do, we have now.

But sometimes we're not even lucky enough to have that.

The time period of our lives is short. Time doesn't extend forever in the lives of us.

We never reach forever because we never are forever. Even if we were who are we to even know? Forever doesn't come with a name tag on it telling you that yes indeed it is the forever you've been in search of.

Forever isn't a thing.

It isn't a statement of time or a specific date that is set.

Forever doesn't have a date because forever isn't time.

It is a word we created ourselves. An immense amount of time we hoped we would one day reach. But that is the thing with us.

We're afraid to cross the finish line because were aware that the track is short. But yet we still waste most of the time we are given, we don't get to experience forever. 

We don't get to experience an infinite amount of time that doesn't exist. Because time no matter how immense we make it seem, isn't immense at all when it comes to us.

Time is shortly lived, quickly wasted, never forever. 

The world isn't supposed to be forever, we're not supposed to be forever. I was told once that "all good must come to an end."

But even the bad things end just like the good. Nothing ever is forever, not even time.

Time has an end.

You know how it always seems to fly? Well where do you think it was flying too?

It flys to its end just we live to our end. Theres always an end.

Even in the end of fairytales where they tell you the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. Perhaps they really did, but they aren't real.

They only get to live happy ever after because they are so unreal, so therefore their happiness is also unreal. Because what I think the books always fail to tell is that happily ever after is hardly ever happy at all because it fails to exist and is only false hope.

At least the happiness we feel isn't false, but unfortunately our world is painfully real.

I was right before, in the beginning.

The grownups really were burdened, because they knew things. Knew too much of the realness of this world and the how sad reality was.

Because the reality of things is that everything most of the time is almost always misunderstood.

We misunderstand ourselves.

Misunderstand and think ourselves innocent, remedied from all wrong. But just because we're human does not mean we're the good guys.

Just because the true nature of us fails to show on the outside does not mean it isn't there.

It is.

We just can't see beyond the surface.

The mirrors we see ourselves in only reflects the beauty on the outside, it doesn't show what truly exists on the inside and for that we are lucky.

Because for the most of us the inside is ugly. Branded with meanness and human nature. The inside is where our real monsters hide in the dark. Where they are seen but at the same time not.

Because although the ugliness of them fails to show beyond the surface it hardly matters.

We still see them even when we don't. Because we know their there. Because we are aware that they've made home inside of us clutching dearly to the good parts, corrupting them and turning them dark.

We can't help but become monsters, its simply the creatures we are.

I once questioned what pulls us to make a decision on wether we become good or bad.

I've got it now, we don't make the decision, the monsters hidden inside us do.

And most of the time we choose the bad because we live long enough to see the true darkness of the world. And the darkness corrupts us to be exactly like it.

The world in a way is almost nearly like us. It possesses beauty and sunshine. But it will never let you know of its ugliness. Because if your naive enough it'll blind you from it. Blur your vision, reveal to you an illusion. Fool you into believing the things unreal, real. Unless you choose to burden yourself and look closely.

Then your eyes will become that mirror that sees all of the monsters.

Your eyes would see what real fairytales look like. And if your wondering they aren't filled with pretty princesses and happily ever afters.

They are filled with realness. They don't end with happily ever afters because they are filled with reality, with the things that actually exist.

They aren't filled with princesses for they are filled with monsters, us.

Monsters can't help but be monsters. Their wants and desires aren't wants of their own but one of their own nature.

Lion don't seek to kill but they have to, if they don't they'll die.

Its a similar scenario with us.

We don't choose to be monstrous or dark. We can't choose to be good all our lives. Its not an option and we don't get a choice. Because choices aren't us, choices are not apart of our nature.

Darkness is. Desire.

We can't part from that, not even if we wanted to.

You can't differ or change your nature. Believe it or not we are born the people we are, we don't morph to be become them.

Its almost like we are written in stone.

From the day we are born our monsters are born with us.

We cannot kill them without killing ourselves, perhaps maybe all we are to do is silence them.

But when we fail to silence them do we choose to silence others, is that how it works?

When we can't kill our monsters we decide kill ourselves, each other  Because other monsters should suffice for ours. The ones we couldn't kill.

Its that why there's so much war, so much blood, so much unsettlement?

Is that why the monster killed me?

Because my monsters would suffice for his?

Is that truly the reason why? Something so stupid, so vile, so weak.

Didn't he get it? Didn't he understand at all?

Monsters unlike us weren't short lived.

Monsters don't die, they kill. They kill us when we fail to kill them. They destroy us, blind us from the light and lead us to the darkness.

The darkness.

Was I falling into darkness?

I bet I was, perhaps this I suppose is the reason I am dying.

The reason he killed me.

Dead

Dead

Dead.