The proof is in the pudding
But I have no appetite for more sorrow.
Cut another slice of cake
For every time I take the knife to my wrist
And count the calories
In the same way I count my curses.
I weigh myself obsessively to see if I’ve lost weight
But the only thing that grows is
The number of troubles on my shoulders.
Misery hangs above me
Like the noose upon my neck
And the regrets that I live with