Today I ate my feelings up.

I was hungry, I was thirsty, and I need to save up because I knew by the very end of the month, I would be broke.

So I ate my feelings up.

They were sort of slippery at first. I had to take a knife and dig a hole in the chest area,
just right above my abdomen where the heart is,
large enough for them to pour out nicely into my bowl.

It was not easy, at first. And not very tasty, to top it off.

Sorrow leaked and seeped through like a flood. I was initially quite reluctant to use a knife-
I knew the blood and gore can make the floor messy.
But the alternative route was through my throat, up my larynx and out of my mouth. I don't think I would fancy having the taste of my dinner on my tongue just before I have it.
It is less enjoyable to have a little knowledge of something before you set your heart out for the full pursue.

So I took a knife, blunt and rusted, and carefully carve a small hole, kinda like the peep-hole
We used to make in the walls of our wooden shed, where Only Boys Is Allowed, to spy on them adult trolls.

I didn't think the boys back then were all that bright- I was a girl.

So back to the topic.

As I said, Sorrow was the first to flow out. It wasn't that hard for it to come out I think. It didn't really taste that good, though. I guess I knew how it would taste like before I tried it, because
Tommy told me once after he cut his heart out for a girl he met somewhere in the park.
After that Sorrow kinda filled in the void where his heart used to be. He dipped his fingers in and licked them off, one by one. He said it smelled like the sort of smell you would get
when you warmed a boiling tube of chemicals and a pungent gas is produced;
It tasted bitter, and salty and was actually pretty crunchy. It left him an aftertaste he didn't like that much.

I still have to try it.

He was only partially correct. It smelled horrible, and it stung my tongue with a sort of bitterness you can only find in that spoonful of medicine you were forced to drink with another spoonful of honey when you were sick, and very young. But it was a tad too chewy, and the more I chewed on it the chewier it became. It was sort of like bubblegum, only bubble gums didn't come in liquid form initially, and when I blew it up it made a delightful pop, and the bubblegum bits of it got stuck on my face.
I didn't like it.
My jaws got pretty tired later on, so I threw it away.
There were too much of it anyways.

I dug the hole deeper with my spoon. More blood spat out on the floor,
Splat, splat,splat
Making patterns like those inkblots the psychiatrist make you see to find out who you are, or at least what you are anyways-that,that Rorschach Test, yes, that's it.
Now I see a dog in one of those patterns, and a flower,
and Grimm Reaper with wings and a pitchfork.
I didn't know what these all meant, but it was getting a bit too scary for me,
So let us get back to dinner.

So I dug deeper, and got Jealousy out by accident- I didn't really wanted to.
I wasn't the sour-sort of person. Don't get me wrong-I enjoy vinegar, and I know in the future when I get pregnant, I might have a sudden sort of craving for sour sweets. But I am not one, yet. And I think it is fairly stereotype-ish of me to even think of this out loud.
Scratch that.

As I was saying, I accidentally took out Jealousy, and it was all over my spoon and bowl.
I ate it anyways.
I didn't like it, either.

By this time I was a bit full, but not too much so.
I dug in deeper, scraping vigorously, almost desperate for more. Anything, really.
I was hungry enough to overlook my usual pickiness.

I like Anger. It was more substantial.
It tasted like storm, and forgotten time and tasteless wine and acid grapes.
It tasted like hot summer, and blood red, and coffee and marmalade moose
and wood made out of metal and Fear.
Then I realized I had finished Anger in such a ravenous state that Fear had substituted it, like a continuous stream of feelings pouring into my modest bowl, and I have had half of Fear.

Fear was really not the best choice to have. Imagine the taste of pickled herring and mouthwash, the cheap kind, all blend up with anchovies and seafood. It gave me more jitters than I have ever gotten from life itself.
But then maybe what I had tasted was a part of what life have gave me.
No further comment.

By now I was quite stuffed. But I have still room for dessert.
I scooped in deeper,
And deeper and deeper and deeper,
And more desperately I threw away my spoon,
And used my bare hands to scrape out whatever is left
In my chest area where the heart was.

A little pool of Happiness has coagulated at the bottom.
I scraped it out, gently, carefully, with my fingers.
It laid nicely on my palms.
I felt rather forlorn looking at it, for it was all I got left.
But my sweet tooth urged me to take a bite of it, just a bite,
It would be enough to sustain the next day.

So I licked it. It was sinful and sweet and strong and bright at the same time.
Then it turned slightly gooey.
I quickly ate them up. They tasted like taffy and rainbows,
And The Truth and Hope and Life and Light and Love.
I have never been this satisfied before-It was like coming home, Your True Home,
Your True Self. It was euphoria.

And then the light flickered and went out.

I laid there, on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling. I felt nothing.

Eventually I stood up, cleaned the whole mess on the floor, left the bowl and spoon in the sink,
Sewed up my chest,
And went to sleep.

It was getting late.