The Poisoned Molasses Cycle

I've lost hope of a happy ending.
There are wounds that haven't been mending.
There is no point in contending,
Depending on how fast I'm descending.
I'm intending to start attending
A party of the extending
Of a certain finger, offending
The pompous and condescending.

The money I've earned is pending.
I've constantly been misspending
A mental state that is unbending.
Its sending a madness that is impending.
I've been pretending to start befriending
The people I've been inventing.

The pain is quite unrelenting.
Its a slow cycle that is unending.
I'll have to start asking others if I'm winning.
The cycle will not stop spinning.
Now I'm devilishly grinning...