Scores, organised in rows like coke on a mirror is the reminder.
In that time of youth, bleak, weeping through the week,
too weak to seek help,
Too helpless to bring health.

The voices rise in stealth.

The marks of shame,
Long calls with people who can't hear anything other than their own worries thrown back to them, not knowing where to pass the ball of confusion.

The look of anxiety on your creators,
The apple of their eye, drowning in cider.
When you're addicted to addictions, substance abuse seems to give your personality some.