My fall from grace is one to be studied; a beloved jazz singer, musician director and messiah all in one place into a man laying half dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs in a New York train station. People would queue up for hours to hear a lisp of my voice and now they prefer to look away… That’s life.

The ciders I would drown myself in would be hand crafted from the orchards in the garden of Eden.

Well I lay at the bottom of a New York subway station. No idea how I got here other than the flight of stairs I had seemingly missed. A tumble in a suit that your average salary Joe would imagine themselves in passing through the display window of my wardrobe.

I should stop spending my money as it’s not gonna last, I just need it to outlive me by a couple dollars. My name is probably my most valuable asset right now and that’s not gonna change at any point. My jazz is dead and no one’s gonna buy it.

**January**

Kicked out of my jazz club,

**February**

I tried to start anew but nothing changed,

**March**

My apartments gone so I couch surf at my parents,

**April**

My family don’t know my face anymore,

**May**

The first accident,

**June**

I live off of my wallet and nothing else.

But if there’s nothing shaking, come this here July,

I’m gonna roll myself up

In a big ball and die.

(That’s life by Frank Sinatra)