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| philomel |
Following the thread on oral fixation I've been preoccupied with biting. Anyhow, word bits.
I am overcome by a desire to bite. I chew on the ends of my biros and gnaw my plastic cup. There is a pink pig on my desk, a squeezable stress toy, and I want to push it in my mouth as far as it will go and bite down on the foam. I bite my forearms and the back of my hands, teeth touching through the taut skin, and scissor hairs with my incisors. I would take a mouthful of breast or thigh or shoulder, of flesh, and taste the salt coating my tongue. I have filled my cheeks with jelly babies so their limbs fall out when I laugh. My lips bleed where I have torn them and sometimes my pillow is soaked in spit where I have dreamt of eating, of devouring.
