I fail many times

Life aint no fascination

Sometimes these imperfections

Are more than mere learning lessons

A bleeding wound perhaps a sting

Inside my head whose venome sings

The screeching sound creates a throe

But the slain glass is in pain no more

A toast of blood raise high in lust

Too hot to drink, nevertheless

Fill some more, it digress the pain

And let a fire burn all the filth and blame

Broken, trodden, sanity insane

This human nature is painful and arcane

For sometimes the imperfections in its lanes

Give a lot more than mere learning lessons' strain