Hunger

Hush, now.
I’m trying to listen.

To the rhythm of my thoughts;
The sound they make as they shatter a placebic reality.

I want to swing hard and strike true brilliance,
Release a great grotesqurie of violent epiphanies from my chest.

I want to witness my desolation,
Mourn the monotony.

I’m only rotting flesh and decaying marrow,
My want morbid, yet monolithic and real.

Hunger makes me tremble;
It pierces the dead ache in my chest.

Hunger makes me reckless;
It makes me bleed.

Come, now. Look here;
At this bleeding, aching creature made of hunger, hedonism, and esoteric beliefs.

Take her, if you will.
Mould her into art — a spectacular tragedy.

[Featured image via: Silvia Grav]

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