Cannibal

There are bad habits, but also are there instinctive behaviors. I tend to bite my inner cheek with my incisors -- both sides, but usually the right. Cheek, that is.

So do I smell my own breath, a self-taught trick I hide when in good company. What I do is, I stick out my jaw and inhale and sniff at the same time. It smells gross, usually. When it smells grosser, I brush my teeth, sometimes my tongue.

I know I won't live forever, but at least let me live a little longer. I am trying to delay the onset of time, the inevitable descent into autumn, winter.

There's a growing crimson knot on the middle knuckle of my right hand. I'm playing the piano, and then snap! My eye is bloody, and I can't see.

I could chat for days about how when I was twelve I loved everything. Even you. But you aren't worth the narrative. I don't want to waste my time, my precious life, dwelling on the past. That's what books are for.

People get hung up over details, the this and the that. I say fuck it, let it linger and fade. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. Ever.

If it was so great to begin with, why, then, did it disappear?

Spit.