the day will come the day of account when foretime catches you up the worst is yet to come it is the clock of life that strikes and it does not observe your rules you can’t avoid it, ‘cause it is your disease getting stonger with every try to fight puking reverse is a slow motion massacre you hate your second face to bear it’s consequences it pullulates in you and nebulizes your wits you are actor and observer but don’t expect an oscar to dash her hope and wreck her dream unsober to swim against your lovey’s stream so hard to breach the circle the same mistakes again this matter is so aching like splinters in a vain