After a certain point you stop consuming food
and it starts consuming you.
It enflames your thoughts, your wills,
so that even those musing which are not directly ablaze
are muddled in a stick, choking fog of heat
that lays in the back of your throat,
sweet and dense and heavy
like you wanna choke.
To choke on the fact that your want to kindle it,
to add fuel to the fire,
to encourage it in it's hot, immovable persistance.

That's why you don't need it,
that's why it clouds you.
That's why no matter how many times you convince yourself you can control it,
it will always win.
Occupying your mouth,
those plushy bulges around the rim of your jeans,
you self-worth,
your whole mind,
your thoughts, your actions, your choices.

Without it, you are abalze with something new.
Not something hot and overwhelming,
not thick and oppressive,
but a frothy ice,
an anti-fire,
a frigid blaze
which stings your senses
and bites with reality,
which attunes you to the present
which makes your feel fantastic
amazing
exstatic
and most importantly
here.

After several days you are more here than you could ever be
because there is nothing inside to distract you
and no need, no desire to tie you.
And no guilt to bind you actions
and no regret to stuffle your peace of mind.
And there are greater things to seek,
to rely on,
to necessitate,
to achieve.