If my body must be the image of your whore goddess, it will be desecrated, and one of heterogender blasphemy.
I will still have the need to nurture.
When you thirst, you may suck the nectar from my sweet macaroni dick.
When you starve, you may slice meat off of my hardened, jerky breasts and make salami.
The beast will stretch its hole wide, stuff itself full.
When all has been consumed, we will slaughter the beast and smoke it over this green glowing amber.
We will wrap the meats with the leaves of this prayerless plant, purifying the chunks with its asexual essence.
Before you go, drape the beast’s hide over my body. In the temple of heterogender blasphemy, we do not snack, we feast. Feast on me through the headless beast.