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.