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…