I electrocute my interior to fry the creeping components, which lie there like slugs, refusing to move. Ugly, formless lumps are attached to my insides. If electricity won't eliminate it, and pushing only voids me temporarily, maybe I'll set fire to the black masses. Maybe salt will do the trick.
If I become completely empty inside, I'm sure it's only temporary. My shell will take care of things until I rebuild my scoured insides. The thin layer of hard shell will keep demons at bay. What little there lies between the inner and outside sides of the shell will suffice to carry me through the day. The embellishments I drew on myself will serve to display some semblance of identity until I fill myself with who I want to be and create new windows to radiate it all through.
What little memory I retain should be enough. One day at a time. And it's all the same, day to day, anyway. Until I find what I'm looking for. I don't know what it looks like, but surely, if I wait, I can grab onto it, s