Boiled chicken residue

Midnight draws near, I grow restless. My guts churn and curse at me with a blitzkrieg of Grehlin thrusts. Appendage arms sprout from my very innards and belligerently twist out the penitent prayers of my viscera.

“Hast thou forsaken us? O, Custodian! Prithee, grant us solace. We cannot bear more deprivation, please…” I chanted in soliloquy, giving voice to my abdomen.

I stood half-bare and half-dead on the center kitchen tile. The third fasting day: The last.

Why do I do this to myself? It’s as though I have forced myself to tread a desert until the very last of my corporeal moisture, then found an oasis, knelt dramatically on the sand and plunged my features into the waters and drank voraciously, as one whose heart is one sweat away from failure would, then realized water is, effectively, the most delicious refreshment.

I was in a trance. Wary of nothing. My attention shrouded by the curiously enthralling collision sound made by strands of my saliva meeting the Zellige tiles. At first, a clacking. Then, immediately, a transition: A liquefying, gelatinous conquest of the tile’s surface, ceaselessly sprawling in wait for the next “clack!”. Just as I was about to have a clear, visual understanding of the concept of infinity, my phone alarm sounded off: The Playstation 1 startup track: A frenzied bell chimes furtively underneath an alien synth that bellows out into the sinking peace of cacophonic glass glitter, ebbing me into wistful 2003 where I was but nascent, hardly sapient flesh enchanted by picturesque electron patterns. 

Midnight draws near, I grow restless. My guts churn and curse at me with a blitzkrieg of Grehlin thrusts. Appendage arms sprout from my very innards and belligerently twist out the penitent prayers of my viscera.

“Hast thou forsaken us? O, Custodian! Prithee, grant us solace. We cannot bear more deprivation, please…” I chanted in soliloquy, giving voice to my abdomen.

I stood half-bare and half-dead on the center kitchen tile. The third fasting day: The last.

Why do I do this to myself? It’s as though I have forced myself to tread a desert until the very last of my corporeal moisture, then found an oasis, knelt dramatically on the sand and plunged my features into the waters and drank voraciously, as one whose heart is one sweat away from failure would, then realized water is, effectively, the most delicious refreshment.

I was in a trance. Wary of nothing. My attention shrouded by the curiously enthralling collision sound made by strands of my saliva meeting the Zellige tiles. At first, a clacking. Then, immediately, a transition: A liquefying, gelatinous conquest of the tile’s surface, ceaselessly sprawling in wait for the next “clack!”. Just as I was about to have a clear, visual understanding of the concept of infinity, my phone alarm sounded off: The Playstation 1 startup track: A frenzied bell chimes furtively underneath an alien synth that bellows out into the sinking peace of cacophonic glass glitter, ebbing me into wistful 2003 where I was but nascent, hardly sapient flesh enchanted by picturesque electron patterns. 

Midnight draws near, I grow restless. My guts churn and curse at me with a blitzkrieg of Grehlin thrusts. Appendage arms sprout from my very innards and belligerently twist out the penitent prayers of my viscera.

“Hast thou forsaken us? O, Custodian! Prithee, grant us solace. We cannot bear more deprivation, please…” I chanted in soliloquy, giving voice to my abdomen.

I stood half-bare and half-dead on the center kitchen tile. The third fasting day: The last.

Why do I do this to myself? It’s as though I have forced myself to tread a desert until the very last of my corporeal moisture, then found an oasis, knelt dramatically on the sand and plunged my features into the waters and drank voraciously, as one whose heart is one sweat away from failure would, then realized water is, effectively, the most delicious refreshment.

I was in a trance. Wary of nothing. My attention shrouded by the curiously enthralling collision sound made by strands of my saliva meeting the Zellige tiles. At first, a clacking. Then, immediately, a transition: A liquefying, gelatinous conquest of the tile’s surface, ceaselessly sprawling in wait for the next “clack!”. Just as I was about to have a clear, visual understanding of the concept of infinity, my phone alarm sounded off: The Playstation 1 startup track: A frenzied bell chimes furtively underneath an alien synth that bellows out into the sinking peace of cacophonic glass glitter, ebbing me into wistful 2003 where I was but nascent, hardly sapient flesh enchanted by picturesque electron patterns. 

Midnight draws near, I grow restless. My guts churn and curse at me with a blitzkrieg of Grehlin thrusts. Appendage arms sprout from my very innards and belligerently twist out the penitent prayers of my viscera.

“Hast thou forsaken us? O, Custodian! Prithee, grant us solace. We cannot bear more deprivation, please…” I chanted in soliloquy, giving voice to my abdomen.

I stood half-bare and half-dead on the center kitchen tile. The third fasting day: The last.

Why do I do this to myself? It’s as though I have forced myself to tread a desert until the very last of my corporeal moisture, then found an oasis, knelt dramatically on the sand and plunged my features into the waters and drank voraciously, as one whose heart is one sweat away from failure would, then realized water is, effectively, the most delicious refreshment.

I was in a trance. Wary of nothing. My attention shrouded by the curiously enthralling collision sound made by strands of my saliva meeting the Zellige tiles. At first, a clacking. Then, immediately, a transition: A liquefying, gelatinous conquest of the tile’s surface, ceaselessly sprawling in wait for the next “clack!”. Just as I was about to have a clear, visual understanding of the concept of infinity, my phone alarm sounded off: The Playstation 1 startup track: A frenzied bell chimes furtively underneath an alien synth that bellows out into the sinking peace of cacophonic glass glitter, ebbing me into wistful 2003 where I was but nascent, hardly sapient flesh enchanted by picturesque electron patterns.