Friday, the third – me crumbling in the shower again:

an inner waterfall of regrets and words is dragging me to hell.

Intense, sharped and weak drops carve my body

And I count the minutes, 30 minutes to forget you.

The loneliness, my old friend, came to town

and I am finally the saddest boy around.

Time goes by, slowly,

And I am patiently facing the truth

or what I like to call ‘truth’.

I am counting the minutes,

I am counting the lacks:

Drugs, sex, promiscuity, drinks

an orgy of dead feelings is dancing inside my heart:

Loudly, voraciously and selfishly.

Who am I dying for?

I guess this is the anesthesia,

the pain before the gain,

This is the hymn for the ones like us:

The heartbrokens who play the heartbreakers.