J  U  S  T  I  F  Y    M  E

Some have the weekend and some they have utopias: the places that cannot exist.
You’ll be out every evening ’till five o’clock in the morning when you talk more than you listen and become the kind of person you’ve always said you’ll never be.

My Croatian friend you took a life in Serbia and now you’re off to Lebanon.
“A war is a war” you say as you put your boots on.
Well I’ll be there so serious. I’ll be there when you go. And you pray…

Working on the novel you began with the end : it’s minus two hundred pages.
Every time you write a line you delete a couple more.
You’ll be ready to celebrate when you complete the masterpiece that hasn’t got a title.

One hundred miles per hour in the back of a car drinking wine out of the bottle, you remember the school friend who’s given birth a child: by now she’s probably four. Well in your chest there’s a hole. And you pray…
…Justify me.

One chance to get it right, what have done? I can’t look back.