fresh meat

40 kilograms
of red meat
waiting for me to devour.
even the thought
of chewing them
properly
itches my gums.
my tongue drowns
in soft saliva.
the bitter poison
makes my fangs
shatter impatiently.
each joint
I
gobble up
makes my pharynx
ecstatic.
the sound of
chewing,
crunching,
and
splashing
is
pure eurhythmy.
why should
I
bother to think of
the nausea
and the loathing?
each pleasure
ends up
in abhorrence.
bulimia
makes no exception.
it tastes so good.
better than pork,
beef,
mutton,
salmon,
sausages,
better than anything
I've
ever had.
it feels so good
that
I
almost have an erection.
the skin
on my belly
stretches with satisfaction.
big proportions
don't scare me.
the geometry of my soul
is far too important
for me
to care for the
shallow architecture of my body.
don't bother
to prick me.
I'm
not afraid to blow.
floating on the surface
of my own shit
has always seemed
intriguing.
shhhh...
fresh flesh
and
viscera
are waiting out there
for me.
shhhh...
I
now ruminate
you
with disgust.