I am sick of you all telling me that I should try all the liquoirs in the bar before I stop at one for good. I am sick of you all cause you don’t believe me when I tell that this is the best of them all. I don’t even need too much of it, this way I’ll have of it forever. It’s enough for me to smell it and I’m crawling on the floor. feels like it’s waiting for my lips to lay on the glass..makes me feel like it needs me, but still leves me wanting more. I think of it every night, even taste it in my dreams, all kinds of dreams. It makes love to me, filling up my veins and all the arters of my soul. I can’t wait for the bar to open and be the last that walks in. My heart breaks my ribs as my heels touch the squeaking wood. I ask the man if it wants to take me in, but my voice trembles like I’m dying. My fear haunting my head. 659 times, when I thought I needed it most the barman told me without any regret that the bottle had been booked for some prom night in the town. My shocked eyes fix a beauty spot on the man’s cheek and my mouth trembles whispering ‘it’s okay, see you tomorrow’ But still, why would I want to have another drink if I already know that it won’t please me. Sometimes I trick myself with water, but it just doesn’t do the click.