Black Hole

Lateral slice, deep, splitting fat layers. Intenstines and organs spilling over. Hanging on the floor. Blood. I try to gather my innards in my hands and shovel them back into my body. They overflow my hands quicker than I can catch them.

Then it turns into a black hole. A perfect circle, like an iris. It's darker than night. It's nothing. Its infinite. It's always there. It's hungry. It likes to eat everything: dreams, identity, courage, time, hope, despair, people and love. Anytime I try to fill it, the filament disappears forever. It never comes out. Its eaten everything I've given it. 

I build wooden structures around it. Sucked in. I make steel fortresses. Sucked in. I try a softer approach: warm clothes and blankets. Sucked in. I don't want anything to be near it anymore. I cannot fill it, and it cannot fill itself, but other people can fill it. Will they?