Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.

She paused. Again. Hoping to gain another strength before she forces all these wastes out of her. One last sigh before she sticks her ******* into her throat and let her body pay for all the gluttonous thrills she can’t help with. For having that omnipresent urge win over her and throw her into a feast. That is the absolute worst. Because that’s when waves of regrets come flushing to her. She feels so panicky like the world’s falling apart. And now her eyes is watering with tears, her throat is sore with all the strain it has gone through, her abdominal muscles aching as it repeatedly contracts. She is stuck in this endless cycle of being deprived and depressed, drowning herself in sinful indulgence, feeling a tremendous loss of control, filling her self with unforgiving remorse and finally hurling those horrible monsters she just opened her doors for. But it’s the only key to make her hate herself less when she looks in the mirror. It’s the only convenient solution to experience the stuff she has been dying to taste without harming her goals. Everybody talks about positivity and loving yourself but she lacks the ability to stress how hard it is. She’s at the point in her life where she can not be okay with how her thighs look like wearing jeans, how it’s just as big as her father’s who is taller and more muscular than her, how she gives the best smile she thought she projected in photos and looking more like her whole face is swelling. How she goes crazy terrified of some numbers that increased. She did not know what they said bore far more greater value until those moments. It waved flags right into her face and snapped her into the reality of how hideous she has become.  And now she met metamorphosis. Those comparisons that drive her to run fifteen extra minutes to her half-hour routine, that made her enjoy exhausting herself knowing that she will burn more especially with a bit of calories to arm herself. Quite often, she wakes up in the middle of the night, belly’s screaming with gnawing sensations and she can’t deny she is very glad of it because she knows when she steps on it tomorrow morning, more will be lost. It signifies hope is coming and let me tell you, it FUELS her. She has learned that the only way is to make those numbers go down. Those numbers that define her. Those numbers that equal her self-worth. Those goal numbers that she believes when she finally reach, will be the only thing that could give her the ecstasy that she desires. Because with every intake, she felt emptier and with an empty stomach, she sensed fulfilment. Alternating between these two universes she ultimately craves, where in one, she takes absolute joy without ever feeling guilty in finishing her medium rare steak to the bone and the other where she wears herself out hoping to be closer in shedding the unnecessary, excess part of her to the bone.

unmotivated,
uninspired,

stressed,
scared,

dreading,
doubting,
­
wanting,
needing

to write.
to create.

but my mind's drier
than eyes after crying