Sometimes we just get had.
Sometimes it happens more to some people than it does to other people.
It could just be that they focus too much on those pains.
The Virginmarys take some pleasure in the gloom.
It's their favorite muse. It's the one that's always nibbling on their ears and stroking their hair. She's a hardcore bitch and she's loaded, but she's the one that they're most willing to put out for, and vice versa. They're in their kitchens cooking up their fucked up recipes - a triangulation of sinking ships, self-abuse and an inability to stop from going into tailspins and circling the trouble like hungry mongrels - and they're looking out at the smoggy horizon.
They're sorting through deceptions and lies and they're doing it with a belief that this is just the daily grind for them. It mind not get any better if they sleep with their own worst enemy every night they go to sleep. Everything spins "out of time, out of sight," when the roll out of bed. They even head to bed with the room spinning, though some observations and plenty of experimentation has taught them that the drugs don't work for what they need them to work for. There's a ton of damaged pride and busted lips to work through and they keep getting stung.