It’s that which breaks down your heart. Hours go by — you might want to leave.

But we have no rest for now — your love torture has broken my name… Born into a slum — deserted by those who should’ve known better at a young age. I have become one without — the drink helps — if you believe it.

Back to bed for now — I have nightmares of the bleak midwinter deserted house. It calls me back to school, oh, not again!

Oh my, that’s all — all that’s left, broken bottles — scathing words to my mother; how cruel I can be! I hear her cry — it’s over. Your father and his womanizing ways no more.

So you see the wretched wrecking of how it goes and how I want so much. Don’t be greedy sounds in my head. Someone’s voice murmurs, “No, you don’t understand, it’s more of what everyone else has.” 

For me, I call it a life.