to be the ones who've seen

The blackness behind your eyelids, as you spasmed and retched on to your side, spilling slime over borrowed floors and yourself; does that feel good now?

That look on your face as you begged and grovelled, snotted all over his feet and his shiny black shoes, flushed face and fevered eyes and then - then, for that one moment of a tired piece of paper going up in fragrant smoke.

That feeling of breath whistling in your nostrils, blood pounding in your head; and the sudden plummeting in your stomach, the inevitable crunch as you meet the ground and lie there in your own wreckage.

You're incurable.

Have you seen it all now?

Good. We can get down to the real business then.

Oh my love, it was a funny funny little thing...