The hate of life/the cookie crumbles (a poem by Jack)

To avoid pain.. To seek pleasure.. In a nutshell appears to be the motivation of men… Yet pain and pleasure die with the moment… When they past, you are still you..
And now what do you have.. A pleasure/pain seeking mechanism that lives and then dies.. Life’s so simple..
If so… Then why does your soul house so much pain.. Your yearning to connect, your feelings of aloneness.. Explain to me the purpose that serves…
Like a baby she attempts to make herself small.. Fetal-like she sits contorted taking up two seats along the train.. A litany of scars surface across her face.. She makes eye contact.. Attempts to connect.. Yet quickly retreats.. As if to hide the shame..
What is life for the broken man? A constant escape? Not a running to, because there is no end game.. It’s a constant running from– regret, resentment, remorse– all the actions, decisions, circumstances that made you, you.
The quiet mind appears to have transcended.. They’ve only mastered the art of apathy– apathy towards sympathy, emotion, disappointment.. In their eyes it’s all figured out and that perhaps is all the more tragedy…
Even a new born has it in em to fight… Something the seasoned man has lost.. The jaded man has become too occupied with having it all figured out to ever fight…innately the nascent communicates.. While sadly so the seasoned man holds it all in.. And it festers.. Deteriorating and eating away at the soul… Until soul reflects the body– a haggard, decrepit and unloved..
What is life for the broken.. What do their minds reflect upon.. What zeal allows them to keep living.. Perhaps the nascent flame of fight never extinguishes.. The fire doesn’t rage on, but the diminutive flame flickers.. And that flicker is enough– enough to abridge and contains enough potential to blaze as any other…

The games minds play on one another.. It’s enough to make a man crumble…

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