One hand.
One touch.
One night.
One thought.

Confusion, corruption, blasting pains bursting like color in front of my eyes; a color that leaves the dull grey smoke behind to stay.

Old friends.
Old times.
Old habits.
Old thoughts.

So hard to read, like when a train moves forward at no speed, all force ahead; Captin, we are boarding, but we never enjoy our stay.

So long for regrets. They are too far away. Why have any, anyway? They are weights tied to our conscience, making us sink further into the dark depths of our ocean of insanity...

When will we learn not to play these games? Why, why are they all the same? There is no time, only a dark space.

Don't let go quite yet.

One hand.
Old friends.
Old habits.
One thought.

Don't let go quite yet.