I writhe in my anxiety:
A ghost of what has passed
Such solace fled so far from me
My hopes are failing fast

I gave up of my will to love
Love soon had turned to blame
When push becomes a violent shove
The bottle called my name

This Hell is where I made my bed
Where all my demons thrive
At once, my conscience turned and fled
I'm lucky I'm alive

It's been ten years since I felt well
When then, I lost my hope
I writhe in my genetic spell
My brain can barely cope...