[insert clever title that has a deep clandestine meaning]

Shots, punctures, penetration... things of which I have never been a fan, but somehow I'm in love with this needle,

and I'm a fiend for the liquid sin within it. Inject me with your daily dose of lust filled malice, riddle my blood with

forget me nots" so that my heart beats for you, and then fill my head with sugar laced lies so that my mind loathes

you... Inner conflict has become the norm, turning my once sacred temple into little more than a war ravaged shack.

Empty and dark, the soul of an addict, craving that which my stomach can not digest... A love I can neither fathom

nor ignore... An itch in the nether-regions of my heart that I.just.can.not.scratch. My neck cranes and my heart

yearns for your syringe, and as I reached for it, I saw my savior, my blessed assurance, the culmination of sheer

sincerity... A soul ascended from the bowels of simplicity, determined to save me, a poor love drunken harlot, and I

denied him. I refused his soft touch, denounced his desire to care, and laughed at his purity... Instead of the sweet

taste of love and infatuation I preferred the metallic codeine of deceit. I jerked my hand from his grasp and dropped

my gaze. As I reached for my needle, my salvation, he wept. From my lips escaped "just one more time," and I felt

my affliction taking over. I pressed the tip to my skin and exhaled, relinquishing my mind to the torments of this

drug one last time. Instead of the bliss filled reveries of before, I saw a single ball of light, a halo, an angel, my

angel... He looked broken, defeated, yet he smiled. Just knowing that I had found my solace, no matter how

detrimental it was, he smiled. My stoic face relaxed to form a smile and just as it did, the form changed. My mind

went black. One last time I saw the light, only this time something obscured the flame, it was burning something. I

stretched my arm to grasp it, the movement disturbing my trance... Upon opening my eyes, I saw the burnt spoon,

the syringe, and the liquid lust it once contained on the floor, and I thought, was it ever worth the prick?

...you don't have to get it. Just a stream of consciousness type thing, better known as word vomit.