Primal Desire

This may be shocking to those with weak stomachs. Though it is graphic, I would like to affirm that I am NOT a threat to myself or others. I do not seriously consider cannibalism. This was written with creative license and is meant to be kept on paper. This is not a manifestation of what I truly feel all the time, but the snapshot of a fleeting moment of insanity. Enjoy as you would a work of fiction.

The taste of too many cigarettes and not enough food mingled on my tongue as the sun trapped its heat in between concrete and clouded sky. My clothes stuck to me,  and I recounted the events of the day. Lack of sleep tugged at my eyes, and the gruesome thoughts returned.

I thought the same thoughts birthed on my pillow that morning. I recounted the desires to recreate the scars that had faded in months past. I recalled the Primal Desire, the one that often led me to believe my ascribed status as social leper, as secret deviant. It was not unusual, the Primal Desire. It had crossed the minds of many humans as it had mine.

Its nature is that of a cobra’s, hypnotizing you with its graceful beauty before it sinks its burning fangs into your flesh and explodes the veins in your corneas and wrenches your body into the contortion so synonymous with pain.

I stared the cobra in the eyes, desperate for the painful orgasm of bite and fang. It mocked me, it swayed to and fro, its black, beady eyes reflecting back what I longed to feel.

I watched the maggots tear at flesh, jealous of their status as decomposer. I wanted a taste. I wanted  flesh pulled from bone, pouring strawberry gold, thick gristle and silk muscle, to dance on my tongue. I wanted to feel the bitter metal of blood and the thick, substantial taste of masticated human meat to slip down my throat and feel the predatory sense of my ancestors satisfied.

I wanted the satisfaction of knowing that I was before cobra, before maggot, before scavenger and decomposer.

I am the meal for the masses. Is it so horrible to want the first bite?