At this rate, I’ll be eating most of the day. With any luck I’ll eat so much I stop existing by mid May or maybe, finally, feel well fed. I am trying to eat my fist today, tomorrow it might be my foot, if I can stoop my neck low enough, or maybe an ear, if I can turn my head far enough. I already tried eating my hair, I ate it off all the way up to my chin because you loved it long and I hate you and I would have finished but shampoo doesn’t taste as good as it smells, so today I’m eating my fist. Today I’m biting and I’m chewing, nails digging, flesh tearing, and I’m screaming, knuckles snapping, stomach crying, still screaming, but you can’t hear it so I’m still eating and I’m starving and I’m trying and I am never, not ever enough.
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