I am of discontent, and working all hours,
and I barely have any time for fun,
and I am worn out and exhausted,
and tired and weary,
and the money is always spent,
and my health always suffers, and I wish to repent,
I wish to repent my stupidity at something,
Something that I should never have begun,
and the stress well it never seems to be over and gone,
and I am of discontent,
and I wish I could erase it all,
for this life is not what it should be,
and there are only mostly days, days filled with misery,
and there are only nights dreaming of anxiety,
and things left undone,
and when I awake, I cannot drag myself up out of bed,
and I have no wish to work at something that I do not enjoy,
for it is to me like against my head pointing a gun,
and what is the point of going through life,
going through life so discontentedly,
and of great malcontent,
and with great unrest in my heart,
and always feeling vacuous and empty,
and always praying for sleep, and ground down by it all,
ground down from a miserable work,
and never completely recovering from it,
by the setting of the sun,
and never recovering from it by the fall of the night,
and despite my sleep and disturbed slumbers,
still feeling just as tired,
and tired of what I am doing,
and tired of work even though, the day has only just begun.