An Inhuman Condition

What fueled my body to cast a shadow on all things natural, human or sane was not cocaine, nor speed, adderall, ritalin nor any other chemical friend along for the ride. No, the cause of my insomnia was pure, uncut, home-grown madness. The corners of the banal had long ago weathered round, and I drove furiously to the end of existence. What was waiting on the other side seemed sickeningly similar, but in a fun-house mirrored sort of way. The bleak, boring, regular was all around, but underneath something dangerous was always lusting and lurking.