Life had become unbearable

I cannot finish a thing and revel in it.
My life is without fridge; and solitude.
Even this verse I write backwards
With chipping interludes I bring it back to the first
My desire to quit goes disravished into the bar below
As i listen to the prostitutes down gunthorpe Street
And watch crack dealers score
The fruits of our labour are punishable by death
But I finish a packet of ginger nuts in two sittings
By the light of my window pane
pane