Pigs

I need to explore the ecstasy/eroticism/passion of the cutting. I've been wrestling with it all day. I am feeling the pull of it. Even now as I write this I have the heavy metal Internet station blasting in my face and I can just feel the blade in my skin. My appetite is off. I am forcing myself to eat. That fear of being over-weight is nagging me again. I am afraid of eating anything too caloric. And I just cannot get the vision of the straight razor out of my mind.

Back from the bathroom. I am feeling the Movie around me.

Fifty. All my fucking life people have been feasting on pounds of flesh they tear from my body. Not rodents. Snorting, grunting pigs, shoving each other aside for a better place at the feast. Slavering, hungry, wanting only to fill the bellies of their worthless, empty lives. Grunt! Grunt! Never enough. Stuff! Stuff! If It tries to get up and leave, step down on It with your heavy, pig weight. Don't let It go! Don't let the food get away! Fill your thick, flabby jowls with food. Pack it down your gluttonous esophagus. Stretch your stomach to the limits of pain. Fill your bowels. Shit out what remains while you eat, eat, eat, eat, eat. Eat! Eat!

Imagine that you are the honored guest at dinner but are not allowed to partake in the feast.

Cut another slab away. Toss it casually out among the pigs. Watch as its blood splatters on their eager, hungry, upturned faces. More! More! Mine! Mine! Sit the fuck down you lame motherfucker. There's still meat on you. Cut another piece off. Saw through the sinew. Tear it the fuck away from the bone. Fling it out! They're waiting still. Hungry still. Eager still. Black obsidian eyes devoid of emotion bulging with anticipation as the meat sails down into the blood-soaked sawdust. Mmmm! Good! Good! I'm gonna wanna fuck after this!

Your damp and splattered skeleton stands limp. Your skull is stripped bare of all human identity but still possessed of a brain. Your jaw hangs slackly open. Your eyeballs, bleeding, seeing, still in their sockets gaze down at the feast. Unable to turn away, all pain long past, you have nothing but this spectacle to behold. The eager, grunting pigs. The pigs tremble and wait. Rock-hard erections form on the boars. They piss in excited anticipation. The sows spread. Oh so good. Oh so good. The final, long-awaited moment approaches. The piss spreads in slow waves on the barn floor, hot and steamy in the heat. There is better yet. The pigs pant in anticipation You see the steam from their hungry breath, smell the rot of your blood as it drips, alive still, from their open, drooling mouths. One last delicacy remains.