I want more
I always want more.
I crave more, no matter what.
No matter the amount of my appetite. I want more. I want to chew on poison.
I want to dive so deep into the pits of Hell that it makes a sense of any comparison to the moments that I face myself and see it. I want to go so deep that I reach the constraints of sanity. That's how deep I want to go. And even deeper, please. Go deep beyond its definition. Freak me the fuck out, please.
I want to overdose myself with myself. Check my pulse. Yes, I'm still here. I like it. Keep it up.
I want to regurgitate shards of glass back onto myself and swallow those jars of shards of glass again and again. Scrape my throat clean while I move those chards up and down through my throat. Make it hurt.
Until when? I am not sure. And I am comfortable in that stance.
I want to keep going. No matter how difficult, confusing and confounding.
Show me more, tell me more, get there. Do it.
Make me see.
Who is making me see? Who's asking? Who the fuck is doing this?
Where were you? Where was I?
I once had tea with Choronzon and all we did was chuckle to each other. As we should expectedly should have. That interesting entity left me lacking. We both did.
Make me see.
Are you making me see?
Am I making me see?
Circle back. Who's making me see what again?
Make me feel.
Make me feel how it is to swallow broken windshield shards of glass pass through and down my throat. Those sharp tiny cubes scratch and scratch hard.
And back up again.
Scrape and gnaw.
There it goes again.
Rinse and repeat. Let us take a walk, again.