Don’t try this at home…

This knave would go sore

I’m riddled with pain like a rat is with fleas;

And yet I’m not ill – I don’t have a disease:

I’m simply disabled – it’s all in my neck –

But, bugger, it hurts: and I feel like a wreck.

No pill has an impact; no medicine helps;

And each time I move my poor body it yelps.

There’s no chance of sleeping with comforting dreams –

Only dark, spiky nightmares, riddled with screams.

All doctors can offer are ways I should cope:

Not proven solutions; or proffering hope.

I’m all on my own with my torment and hurt –

Descending so low that I’m left in the dirt.

So I form my own methods to deal with the aches:

A very large whisky; and a mountain of cakes.