I admire the starving artist. Here we see the sanity in mad men. A body consumed in a flourishing mind. Sleep has become optional, food a waste of time. It’s been days now since I’ve seen the inside of my eyelids for more than an instant. I can’t remember the last time ate. My intestines must think they are out of a job. They watch as my stomach grows its own set of teeth. My thoughts and passions have begun to overwhelm me. Sometimes I forget to breathe. There is conscious thought now behind every heartbeat. Were there not, my organs would forget their functions, and I would cease to be.

Smoke break. It’s time to make more coffee. Malnourished I sweat. You can almost smell the caffeine and tobacco seeping from my pores. I’ve not been good to my body. Even the food I consume hardly passes for food. What neglect I’ve shown my physical form stranded in my day dreams. I guess I’m just sick of the scenery. This sad collection of toxic thoughts and warped..