"O' my watchers exalted in your silence, pity me not for I am no more."

I’m always desperate for something or someone to distract me from myself. It’s an aching need that I wholly despise.

I crave the person I once was. It’s like craving hot tar down my throat.

A false memory, or perhaps Deja vu. A brain worm, either way.

The urge to blast music into my ears is maddening.

Rot starts and rot ends— one for the other, rot for rot.