when the spoon bangs up against my teeth i feel it reverberate through me, like my frequent spasms that wrack my entire body. it goes down hard. i am hacking up pulmonary blood and half-digested puzzle pieces in yet another failed attempt to **** my system. it feels like 1,000 needles trying to enter a single spot on my skin.

apoptosis; programmed cell death. it's a poor god that can't save everyone. when i press my eyes i see colors, and shapes, and stars that slam into me like a tractor trailer. my thoracic cavity caves underfoot. i bruise like a peach. i'm like a peach in a lot of ways, actually. don't ask me how. that's disgusting.

the human body is composed of three elements:
the first is blood, the second is milk, and the third is feces.
the spirit is the consciousness that persists after death,
fine-tuned to the body's material frequency.
my soul vibrates at approximately 200 decibels.

in my lifetime i'll bear one billion children from my fervid, heaving womb
one whelp is born with sticky milk sealing its eyes shut
and a razor blade in its paw
my baby cut me up from the inside out
so i smothered him