Life,
stress,
stressless,
and no chance at happiness barely at all,
and with not much money,
and no fun,
and not much work,
but life,
life,
what life?
Yes, in such circumstances,
there is no life,
only a big mess,
and it is an empty life,
and it is not a full life,
and not a half full life,
and because of the stresses,
and because of the strains,
upon the mind and the brain,
far too many alcohol bottles,
are far too quickly emptied,
and life is not very often meaningful,
but mostly unmeaningful,
and very unhelpful,
and not happy at all,
but unhappy,
and extremely miserable,
and filled with self-loathing,
and far too often feeling despicable,
and far too regularly continuing
and habitually continuing,
a habitual ritual,
a cigarette in the morning,
a cigarette every hour,
and the girlfriend and I,
drink beers,
and almost a bottle of whisky,
at night each mostly,
and end up far too regularly,
with a headache in the morning,
awaking to a girlfriend,
who's angry and sour,
saying that we had a fight,
a fight that I do not recall.