Oh boy hasn't it left me weak,
Like too many ice cubes
melted into a glass of scotch.
I had grand visions on the eve
of this foul dream,
vision's that rest on a life changing
scale,
but now I lay here
miserable and weak.
Im like a once proud stag,
hit by a car,
reduced to little more
than road ****.
Misery can clam us all if we let it.
I battle it each day that I am awake,
but it has now crept into my dreams
to claim me.
I rise each vile morn with its wry smile
of stolen victory glaring,
gloating,
grimacing.
I have succumbed.