I have a pit where my stomach should be, an endless hole that nothing fills. When my hunger grows out of control and my self-control lapses, I find myself gripping the neck of someone beautiful again, maybe in a dark alley or in their own bedroom, as the light fades from inside.
I draw their selfhood in—everything that makes them who they are—and it is the most delicious thing you can imagine. It leaves them empty and purposeless, but the bodies can be taught to obey. It seems the kind thing to do is to become their new purpose. They can bring more food.