I have a shaking hand. I have blood on/in my groin. I have knees that lock and ankles that swell. I have a dry throat and a purposely locked jaw. I am the trembler at night, I am the passive daytime viewer. I am action hero encased in victim. I am the artist and the playwright of my unending story. I have visions of splendour, but mud on my feet. William Blake told me that I was special. Well, he would know wouldn't he. If skies are brown, and trees are blue...what colour is my heart...what colour is my heart?