Why is it, I am falling from mountains

Why is it, I am falling from mountains,
and why is it, I am laughing on pain.

What is this, sort of, craving for estacy,
How come it, neither break nor it bends.

How can I, keep on playing realities,
and why does I have no foe or no friend.

Something is, kind of, constantly calling me,
making me neither fool or no saint.

Hundreds of questions, lulling so deep within,
what will I do, if I face them again.