you can’t hold yourself together anymore.
the cracks spread further every day.
making yourself marble has made them uncurable.
even a helping hand can’t heal absence.
there’s no glue for marble,
no fix for burnt books.
There’s a reason Victory is still headless,
and you’re still not happy.
nothing stays important,
no one saves you,
and know most of all:
time doesn’t slow for the losers to catch up.
Sidorenko’s Writing 