LIVING CAN OF WORMS.

In front of me, is a plate.
On this plate is a fork. A fork; and lots of living, mobile squiggly lines.

Worms.

In my head. My body. My mind.
I'm worm infested.
Worms of self-doubt.
Hate.
Hurt.
Suffering.
In front of me is a plate. On this plate is a fork. A fork; and lots of living, mobile squiggly lines. Worms.
I'm just about to ingest more worms.

Yummy...?

Indecisiveness.
Panic.
Fear.
Into my body they go. I don't need this salt. I know I have to ingest it, but I do not want it so no, thank you.
I'm full.
If I have one more, they'll start oozing out of my orifices.
There they are, within me, mobilizing themselves to move  in one motion.
One direction.
One destination.
I don't want to, but the strong peristaltic motion they generate makes me give in.
Now I'm just one huge worm.
Worming my way into depression.