It Eats. ( COMPLETED )

The mold eats me alive, consumes me in small bites and swallows me with savoring tastes. But I crave it. Like a child who craves the final sweet in the jar. I decide I don't need my flesh to hold my innards and support my bones. I don't need the soft and the malleable. All I need is the mold and it's gnashing teeth. Its growing smile and bottomless hunger. I need it to feast upon me and my bones and my flesh more than I need a man between my legs feasting upon my. . .

I take deep breaths, inhaling cleanly while my peers cover their nose. The mold surrounds us, entombs us in its walls of moist fluff and earthy scent. It sees that we are suffering in our self made prison cells and it has given us a way out. Why do they run from it when we can enter freedom willingly? I submit to you, Mold. Eat me and bring me peace.