And life ended up, again, to be a daily banquet, during which every pause, among the courses, is a delusional nothingness. Not to feel the weight of almost any entity makes me crave for it. I endeavour to grip it, but it's like trying to hang on a chalk bar, failing at that, as I notice melted metal leaking from my hands. 

I'm a sieve that looses overcooked noodles and holds the starchy liquid.

I'm a carnivorous plant, squandering her reflexes and sensitivity, killing insects that will never be nourishment.