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times like these remind me of past times, but then when was i ever anything but living in the past?

i've removed myself from all aspects of humanity, aside from simplistic interactions required for the most basic form of survival. i don't care enough for people. i care too much for people.
sycophants and villainous repetitions of nightmares delude remnants of a conscious state of coherency, and there's never enough of anything to satisfy anything enough. something's slithering around, but all i hear are the whispers of things that should not be.

i might be okay, but who are we really fooling- i was already on this road.

been riding on the path to nowhere; heroin my fuel and fortitude and fortress, forsaken only in the moments of overtheedgehigh. i'd much rather burn my own road, bleed concrete into the ground and build figurative signs with little arrows that read, "this way to his heart". there's no speed limit here, just faster faster and faster, burn rubber against hard ground as gears shift and turn in synchronization with my heart.