Hunger

It’s a sporadic constant hunger that feeds off of me. I feel it gnaw at my insides, it doesn’t feed off of my stomach lining or my heart but at my brain, I feel it tear off my ease and let the suffer seep in. I feel it slide its way through the layer of my skin ripping off each layer as it grows closer to the surface and its a pain my constant itch cannot sustain anymore. MRI’s can’t show you what it is, I don’t know what it is, it screams for me, it bellows my name in the most silent of rooms and it constantly whispers and whimpers to me when I’m surrounded by masses. I can’t tell you what it is, it won’t introduce itself to me other than in memories, I can’t coup with it because I can’t grasp the pain it causes. It comes from within but I can’t recall when it entered, it sought vacancy in me and found an abode, whether it was from my stupid hospitality or my blatant ignorance it now welcomes me not I welcome it. It doesn’t blind me but opens my eyes invertedly, I see myself for who I am, unknown. It is ominous but it is good, it is pain but it is pleasure, it brings to me what I brought others. What I brought to others was me, what was brought to me is still yet a figment of a self-mutilated self influenced by a world filled with self pity, a world within myself that I cannot come to terms with for I never even glimpsed its horizons. A creature that craves my despair but solely eats for its amusement for at times my solitude is a quiet one, but today it a irritating and obnoxious one. It renders me immobile, and turns the to paperweight, for when it comes, I am no longer, when it bellows I answer the call, it close my eyes sometimes praying they won’t open again.

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