Proudly brought to you by a wonderful concoction of flu meds and whiskey......
She dreams of a day when she no longer hates,
When life becomes calm, painless, sedate.
Alas. The fantasy is far from her grasp,
Reality is haunted by ghosts of the past.
Painful reminders of what she can’t have,
The warmth of happiness, to smile, to laugh,
The worst of all pains, to know it exists,
Just not for her. No. She’s not on the list.
So many questions are stuck in her head:
Is it stupid to keep trying? Is it stupid to wait?
All she knows is: she’s written another stupid rhyme.
And worst of all, the whiskey bottle is dry.
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