When I’m finished with this body
I want to see it burn
It’s let me down a bucket load
And should be in an urn
Robbed me of retirement
Stole my self esteem
Nulled my independence
Destroyed my hopes and dreams
The things I could done
The things I might achieve
If it wasn’t for lack of dopamine
And this hideous disease.
justified frustration sings through in this poem which ironically in itself is an achievement.