genetics.

its easy to look at those who speed and think, "i love to speed also," but at times i think do i really love to speed? do i love the idea of speeding? do i love the actual risk? the disregard for the consequences? if i'm already thinking this much about it, have i spoiled it too soon to experience it? i see people who -  on whatever surface, are risking so much...

i hate to think that i'm a different breed. because the hunters of the word are defintiely attractive beings, and although at times i may have teetered slightly along the lines of taking too much or not caring enough i think that predetermination plays too great a role in this life. it burns to think about it.

maybe i will sucumb. maybe i will lay here until all resources run out. maybe i will allow the weeds to overcome the nothingness of existence anyways, regardless of the nothingness to come in "better times." who cares any ways, right? 

we can only hope to rely on anyone outside ourselves. what will hope amount to anyways? nothing. nothing. nothing.

it burns some more. you are wasting away reading each le tt e r. what does it amount to in the end? you can keep on playing and being played. tinkering. thinking. meandering.

maybe care so little that a fuck becomes so animalistic that it is just a fuck, as always. or -  care so much, that you wouldn't dare. 

i think the place in the middle is so much more dangerous.

& supposedly coffee isn't good for you.