The tyrant alcohol wielded
a double-edged sword over us;
first we were smitten by an insane urge
that condemned us to go on drinking,
and then by an allergy of the body that insured
we would ultimately destroy ourselves
in the process.
Few indeed were those who, so assailed,
had ever won through in singlehanded combat.
It was a statistical fact that alcoholics
almost never recovered on their own resources.
And this had been true, apparently,
ever since man had first crushed grapes.
Alcohol gave me wings to fly,
and then it took away the sky.
A A = Applying Action.
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