With the exception of a few pringles, it's been almost 4 hours since I've eaten anything. I'm hungry...

Oddly enough, it's not food that I'm craving. The past few days it has been a battle to hold down the pangs of hunger. The desires of my flesh, wanting desperately to be fed. There's a feast just waiting downstairs. All I have to do, is stand up. Walk down the stairs. Grab the remote and press a simple sequence of buttons. Then sit and watch. Feeling numb, cold, paralyzed as the current of bright colors and images engulf me like cold water. The feeling in my body and heart go cold as I stare, unable to blink. I watch as beautiful things that God created are defiled and sold like cheap jewelry. Pictures of women giving their body to someone whom they probably have just met. Never knowing the joy of knowing one person intimately.

It makes me want to cry. The hurt these girls feel. Their lack of love. Their emptiness. I take advantage of them. I watch them have their purity trampled underfoot, again and again, so that I can get off. So that feeling of hunger will subside. So that my flesh will be satisfied.

At the end of the night, I feel more empty than I began. It turns out that the only thing I was feeding my flesh was myself. As I turn off the television I feel betrayed. My eyes sting as I make my way upstairs. I look forward to crawling into bed and going to sleep, somehow hoping that in the morning I will forget the images that are now engraved in my mind. Unfortunately this doesn't happen. The images are still there. Hiding in the confines of my mind, they are there, lingering; like an infection.

My flesh has successfully made me think that this is what I wanted to do. I feel weak. I feel used. I want to go upstairs, curl up in my bed and die.

I don't think I will be watching any pornography tonight. I don't want it, and I sure as hell don't need it. I am wondering what has happened to my flesh. Where has it gone? What has become of that whisper in my head that assures me I want pornography. I need pornography. It is gone.

Silence is all that is left.