I’m an obese pig, swollen with excess, a body that’s stopped looking human. I eat without grace, grow without limits, spread because it’s the only thing I know how to do. My flesh is heavy, accumulated, let go until it becomes uncomfortable to look at.My body is filthy with excess, saturated with appetite, always past what’s decent. Every fold shows how much I’ve been fed, how willingly I’ve been filled, how little I care about appearing respectable.
I don’t exist to be pretty or healthy. I exist as mass, as weight, as something too big, too full, too indulgent. A pig that keeps getting fatter, slowly and visibly, with no urge to stop.
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