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Recently the thought of eating has repulsed me- mainly due to the heat, if I had to guess. It’s not a lack of wanting to eat, only a lack of appetite. Like something got stuck in my intestines and now rots there. Mould growing along the cilia, covering the stubby tendrils in a greyish black funk that will never be washed all the way out. 

At the same time, I’m so starving that I feel as if I’m dying. I become unbearably aware of the fact that I’m only a thin layer of mucus away from digesting myself from the inside out. A small sliver of me wishes that mucus would wash away so I could finally be fed, even if it was on my own self. I can imagine breathing hard, more wheezing than breathing due to my lungs being eroded by the hot acid that bubbles up. I can imaging the way it’s taste when it finally reaches my throat, the weak, quiet scream of it spreading as pieces of flesh dripped into it. 

Would that even help? Or would the destruction of my stomach make my hunger everlasting? You could ask the same about the ouroboros. Does it ever get full? If so, why does it keep the circle? Would it linger like a phantom pain even after all the organs are gone, even as the bones become brittle and dissolve?

I should make myself dinner, take advantage of how much cooler the night is before the sun’s loving burn graces me with it’s sickness again.