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I’m a corpse. I died a while ago, my body just didn’t get the memo.
I don’t mean this metaphorically. I’m not dressing a metaphor in flowery words like I usually do. I’m being very literal. I am a corpse. And corpses are meant to rot.
I crave it more than anything. Rotting. Slipping apart. Softening until I resemble dirt more than a person. The hunger is so much stronger than hunger for food, for sex, for anything.
Hence the maggots.
Hence the filth.
Hence the spoiled food.
I surround myself with it like a nest. I open the fridge and leave things inside until they bubble. I scrape my fingers over the mold that grows on the walls and press it to my lips just to smell it. I tear at my skin looking for soft spots, places where decay might start if I’m lucky.
Everyone thinks it’s a metaphor when I talk like this. They smile and nod and say “same.” But I’m not being poetic. I’m telling the truth. I need to rot more.
One day soon my body will catch up with my soul. I’ll be complete and fufilled. Until then, I'm surrounding myself with filth and crawling things. Maybe I can remind my body that this is how it's meant to be.
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xxRebellious_Emmaxx
I'm no expert or anything, but this sounds like Cotard's delusion and you seriously need help. This is not normal, you are seriously mentally ill to the point of psychosis.
Fly
Maybe there is a purpose to fulfill before your body is allowed decomposition
Share your rot with others, embody the spirit of death!
Perhaps you're right. But in that case, the worms chose a lousy candidate.
by Mary-Kate; ; Report
I don’t think so with how beautifully you put together your words as you wish for rot and death it makes me believe you are a better candidate than you may even believe to that might be because your ego has rotted away though I don’t know if that is entirely true
by Kzed; ; Report
Not to worry. My brain is rotting, but my ego still thrives.
by Mary-Kate; ; Report