Having loved and lived more than many, you're one that has feared and toiled in the garden of life. This garden that is now untended, dried, and withered; a vast wasteland, littered with cigarette butts, broken beer bottles, used condoms, and bullet casings. Those seeds of ruin are sowed by your very own callous hands of destruction. Once, golden opportunities and golden showers were warm and comforting, till you realized you were being ****** on by weak hearts and failing bladders. An ongoing stream of liquored up nights, self-loathing heathens, and rotten misanthropes now have you bowing to the porcelain gods beside a freshly dug grave, fit for your honor. One more shot is what you want, finely driving that final nail into your coffin of a liver. Feeling flushed and torn, nobody will be bringing you flowers, you wilted oaf.  A half-eaten vegetable, you are. Left with nothing more than skin and bone,  there's a sign that sustenance has not been a friend of indulgence.