"Existence"

To be, or not to be, that is the question.
Whether tis nobler to live in pain,
Or die by thine own hand.
To love and lose,
Or to ingore and survive.
But what is surviving?
To lack emotion is no way to live.
Yet it often feels as such.
And happiness, what of it?
It is surely followed by twice as much pain.
Do we live only to hurt and be hurt?
Possibly, but that is a cruel view of the world.
Yet this world has no other way
To act towards those who would be happy.
Too much greed,
Too much longing,
Too much self-pity.
Yet without these, would we recognize the good, the joy?
Doubtful.
To live,
To die.
To sleep.
Perchance to dream.
Yes, a dream.
A dream which shall never come true.
One of love, of success.
Of murder and massacre.
Where does the dream end and reality begin?
At what point does our imagination,
And our mind,
Interpret our world for us
Because we lack the strength
To live in it as it exists,
But must alter it to placate our fears.
At which point do we actually face
Reality?
The one thing we hide from most?
All life is an escape,
A constant flight from that which we fear.
Ourselves.