I’m 47 years old and have survived failure.
Forgetting to smile when I wake up.
Failing to scream never at my loving daughters.
I failed so much that you could call me a survivor.
I am a coffee-addict and a reformed chain-smoker.
A wanna-be insomniac.
An unwilling fighter. To accept love.
I have refused so much love that you could call me a survivor.
I am a dreamer of self-importance
and a self-published author
of unpopular ideas; loving a handful of people. To death.