Glass

It is commonly suggested that you cannot rape the willing, however, there are those of us who are willing to let ourselves endure such violation to succeed. Every day. At this moment. Somebody is forcing themselves to pretend. A child's game, practice for reality.
They are losing themselves in the false pretense that is reality.
Reality is but a simple ideal that can be twisted and realized depending on what we want—or think we want.
The reality that what we want is actually what we desire, what we long for, is not truth.
It is simply an ideal, a dimension undergoing exploration.
It is this dimension we cling to, bracing ourselves firmly against the airtight soda lime glass, praying for fused silica. And, in creating what we believe to be a truth, coming to believe the soda lime glass is, in fact, pure silicone dioxide. We create a trust within ourselves and launch ourselves into the dark, asteroid flinging future trusting that our soda lime asylum will keep us within the illusion we created.
But with each unwillingly willing thrust, the bivouac becomes a mirror of the truth, magnetting asteroids and shattering itself. The shards slicing deep, commemorated with only dried blood and scars. Abandoning us to the black abyss.
Very few recognize the shattering, the abandoning of dignity.
Even fewer reconcile within themselves.
They blame the universe for disconsolation and never diagnose the culprit within.
The culprit that, with each unwilling choice, is another thrust to fuck them over.
Despite the blood, despite the tears, despite the pain, they never think beyond what they must do to see what they need to do.
The victims would rather be raped by reality than ravage the truth only they can allow.