I want you to know something before you kill me.

I want you to know how terrible it is to be dead.

You can guess by my appearance that I’m not at all comfortable. What I can feel is mostly cold and pain. Hunger obviously, always hunger, but we’ll get back to that.

Mostly I’m numb, which is a dubious relief, because those parts end up getting hurt and rotting. It’s not that I care so much for my health anymore, being dead has that advantage, but it is important to keep myself together, in the literal sense.

I mentioned the hunger, didn’t I? The hunger is always there. I cannot satisfy it, or even subdue it, though admittedly I’ve never really tried that hard. Therein lies the real problem.

You think it’s disgusting, what we eat, but really you have no idea. You’re not the one eating it. Every thing about it, its texture, its smell… You have no appreciation for what it takes
to swallow
every
mouthful.

Most of us starve to death rather than eat.

That’s the real pain. A mind is a terrible thing to taste.