LavĂnia
plalace
- Feb 19, 2024
- 167
Arid, sour, and refreshing texture. I eat a piece of cake. I wake up, I eat a grilled cheese sandwich. I get ready for bed, I chew two pieces of gum that burst and kiss my tongue with sugar, my teeth ache, fearing cavities.
A rotten tomato, exuding a putrid yet fresh scent, is the healthy flesh of worms. I bite, chew, it doesn't satisfy my hunger.
My pillow is soft, I bite, forcing my jaw. Saliva, anger, and a dry taste. What is a pillow made of?
- A pillow is made of an orthodox combination of minerals extracted from hope: sweetness, bitterness, freshness, gastric juices. The blood of a beast kisses my senses. It turns to straw.
I eat fish. I eat beef. I eat wheat. I eat chicken. I eat cocoa. I eat industrialization. I eat smoke. I eat paraffin. I eat fat. I eat oil. I eat and consume everything with neurotropics, caffeine, adenosine, casein. I ate what walks through the vastness of the earth, I ate what runs among the bushes, I ate what flies and greets the desolate clouds, I ate what swims on the edges of the ocean, I ate what thinks it is more.
A nest of worms grows in my stomach, clamoring for more.
I eat more, more worms. I eat more, more worms. I rip open my stomach with my hands, pulling my intestines around the bed. The worms begin to salute, seeing me as an ancient goddess of fertility. They salute, eat the worms beside them, keep looking at me. They wait for something. They keep looking. I look back. I grab the worms, I eat, I chew, I grind, I consume. I eat to rip and see them jumping out of my intestines again. I eat my intestines. I eat my hands, I eat my arms. I slam my face against the wall until my eyes pop out, shattering my skull, making them slide into my mouth. PAH. Explosions in my mouth. I only feel a tingling, a current, a sea of worms greeting me. Eating my flesh, and getting hungrier.
A rotten tomato, exuding a putrid yet fresh scent, is the healthy flesh of worms. I bite, chew, it doesn't satisfy my hunger.
My pillow is soft, I bite, forcing my jaw. Saliva, anger, and a dry taste. What is a pillow made of?
- A pillow is made of an orthodox combination of minerals extracted from hope: sweetness, bitterness, freshness, gastric juices. The blood of a beast kisses my senses. It turns to straw.
I eat fish. I eat beef. I eat wheat. I eat chicken. I eat cocoa. I eat industrialization. I eat smoke. I eat paraffin. I eat fat. I eat oil. I eat and consume everything with neurotropics, caffeine, adenosine, casein. I ate what walks through the vastness of the earth, I ate what runs among the bushes, I ate what flies and greets the desolate clouds, I ate what swims on the edges of the ocean, I ate what thinks it is more.
A nest of worms grows in my stomach, clamoring for more.
I eat more, more worms. I eat more, more worms. I rip open my stomach with my hands, pulling my intestines around the bed. The worms begin to salute, seeing me as an ancient goddess of fertility. They salute, eat the worms beside them, keep looking at me. They wait for something. They keep looking. I look back. I grab the worms, I eat, I chew, I grind, I consume. I eat to rip and see them jumping out of my intestines again. I eat my intestines. I eat my hands, I eat my arms. I slam my face against the wall until my eyes pop out, shattering my skull, making them slide into my mouth. PAH. Explosions in my mouth. I only feel a tingling, a current, a sea of worms greeting me. Eating my flesh, and getting hungrier.
