There is no living that is just right
everything is subject to little tragedies
and those that suffer endlessly are subject to millions of these tiny tragedies
everyday
and sure life does go on
but not because you want it to
only because it has to
and the combined effort of a million tragedies and the natural turning of time
is like sandpaper on the soul
slowly mushing your fabric to steamy soup
and those that suffer the least are called successful
the others loners, beggars, hobos, and barflys
god bless their beer drunk souls
they do it better
and they're always ready for death