"perfect" pasta

the beginning

Pasta are perfect, perfect is pasta.

I don't want to be lonely I want to be left alone...

Life abandoned me and I will forever be abandoned

My grandma is nice but she's dead

My grandpa hurt me

Pasta was made by her, it was like eating worms.

As it slid down my throat, I could feel them wriggling and bubbling in my intestines trying to get out

I tried to escape the feeling of hurt, but the pasta escaped through another hole,

They wriggled and squirmed, tickling me bum

It was a nightmare, thank god...

But... There was still another bowl full of "pasta" left for me to "eat"

I don't want to eat it, but yet I am lonely, so I hope the little worms inside me will be my friends

They reject me, just like my mother and father once did

The pasta climbed through the gaping hole in my elbow, it was like they were a part of me...

I lose control of my arm, with it failing and flapping through the air

I opened the door and ran out. I don't want to eat anymore, I'm full by the thought.

As I was running, the worms slowly bit into my elbow, eating away the flesh

I could feel them making their way through my body, making their way to my brain, taking over my body

It hurt so bad but I felt.... At one with the pasta, I could hear its thoughts and feel what it felt

It hurt so much, but it felt as good as when you kick someone in the ear

I let it control every waking inch of my body, letting it squirm and squiggle around

My legs can't walk anymore, stumbling through the forest of this countryside I live. I twisted my ankle and fell into this wet muddy puddle. Splashed mud and water.