We go back...no. I went back...

I go forward, and back but not forward.We reverse the curses of our fellow men and children who take the heroin.They inject. We reflect.The orange leaves of gold... stay on the pavements, as we march to the funeral tunes.

The misty air entraps me, as I walk along the mental beaches of my tranquilities.The imaginings sing to my soul and I cry to them back.Tender touches of my thought to feeling.Aching throats and undying subconcious thought.My life and loves are in the balance.Everything is in the balance, my soul and fucking sanity are in the balance.

Pain. is at the whims of my fingers.Swift moves will be there. Torture is all I write of.It's all I think of.