Grey days, mind haze, so self inflicted. Rain drops, time stops, surreal and depicted. Sore head, warm bed, outsides restricted, No food, It’s no good, I’m going to be sick.
Wind blows, headache grows, stomach rumbles on. Cold skin, patients thin, wishing I was done. Dry eyes, deep sighs I want this feeling gone. It’s no good, I NEED food, oh why was I a dick?
No spit, that’s it, my bodies giving in. Eyes fade, my beds made. I’m really struggling. Fingers froze, so’s my nose, I’ll never drink again. There’s NO food, it’s no good, I REALLY am that thick!