Pain

I wonder how they do it.
Each morning,
billions of people get up
and go through
with their routine

each with their own story
their own rhythm
their own life
encapsualted in a small circle of friends.

They all manage to deal with their own fucked up selfs.

I guess I do too, since I’m still here.

(Tomorrow, I’ll laugh. In a week, I’ll read this poem again.)