self-eating

Where to take this fear that lives with me, lives in me night and day. It is difficult each step, each breath, each cry for help, each tear that is tearing me from the inside. I mourn. But what? Who? Is it not demeaning to even mourn? Demeaning to the very soul and thus lies the carcass on the guillotine of my heart, decapitated, decapacitated, putrefying. It reeks of the self eating. 

Ouroboros.