It's not easy being me. What with the addictions and afflictions and predilections frowned upon by society. What with the unsaid and unseen and where the grass is not quite as green, as the cushy little number that you inhabit like the queen, you claim.
It's not easy being queasy with lungs very wheezy, a sense of humour cheesy and a mind a little crazy, with actions that are hazy in a fug of which i'm too lazy to break through to see, reality.
Then again, fuck it.
One's voice is the choice we choose to exhibit.
Live with it!