They say the devil is paranoid

HE SMILED.
It had all been so good last night.
He had made it.
He felt vibrant, strong.
On top of his game.
Chuckles filled the empty room around him,
The cockyness of self-importance.
Oh, he was so confident, so independent.
He had even found that old Frankie 7" he had bought
From a street seller this one time.
The New York national anthem was just done spinning,
In all its cheesy glory.
He could relate.
The world was his playground.
He concentrated on his body and flexed every muscle he could muster.
One by one.
Then he threw the clock on the wall a quick glance.
He stole the time from it, as if he didn't care.
It had been nearly thirteen hours.
But he was so strong, time wasn't the matter.
He wasn't one of those people running after time, not him.
It wasn't until 2 minutes of nothingness rinsed away that he
slowly reached with shaking hands for his bundle across the table.
Full of disgust he started unfolding and preparing it.
Tears raced his face.
He couldn't bear to look at what he was doing,
Observation would mean confirmation, and that was the road to ruin.
But he also couldn't avert his gaze,
For all the loathing it filled him with.
He couldn't find a vein without looking. He just couldn't.
The little losses life handles us,
sometimes.