Just Getting By

I read a letter today, from an old time friend. I was doing just fine, till I got to the end. He said life was good, nothing else new. Life was looking up, "How about you?" I can't understand why he wrote that down. In prison lifes not up, its lower than the ground. It's never no different, it's the same in here. The only good day, is when you sleep with no fear. Depression sets in, when you think of this mess. Depression goes away, then in comes the stress. As I try to write back, I start to feel shame. I had nothing to say, I only wrote down his name. It's nice that he wrote, it shows me he's true. But the only thing we have in common, is nothing else new. So I went back to the letter, then out came the cry. As I wrote these three words. "Just Getting By."