Its wings have become so frayed and worn it can no longer fly

It's hard but I'm trying my best

I will do all I can

Digging my nails into my shins

I'm so sick of my bullshit

Given a life to live too anxious to enjoy it

"Now its wings have become so frayed and worn it can no longer fly

And the old honeybees are often carried a quarter mile away

From the hive and left to die (Root, 1947)"

Now they're torn

Only bleeding scabs