We all do win,
We all do lose,
The schedule differs,
But the outcomes do not.

Up into the sky,
Or down onto cement we are thrown,
Or throw ourselves,
Euphoria or suffering,
So pure you shudder at each moment felt.

And so,
I hear it’s good to have friends,
They give you anchor when you're yanked by circumstance,
When life's torn into you like a butcher,
Your tears, like blood, spilling on the floor,
Their words —or so I hear —salvage what is still sacred.