Hunger rises from your stomach:

A wolf,

Ravenous, irresistible.

Feast. Feast.

The bread tastes of ashes, the berries of rot.

These are not what we demand.

Once, meat could sate you

Once, rare--

No, raw

--raw, rich, bloody, oh yes

Cold fat and tendon torn beneath your teeth:

Anything

To silence the howling void,

To turn its wailing to susurrant, satisfied murmurs.

Ah. Ah. Ah.

You’d lick the blood from your fingers, then,

And smile.

But now?

Not enough.

You stalk to the butcher’s in the lamplight,

Knowing he carries nothing to sate you.

Or... perhaps he does.

Doesn’t everyone?

They walk beside you.

Meat. Fresh

Meat

You gnash; you salivate;

It sees,

scurries away.

The next.

Another.

See hot breath fogging the air,

Hear that ropy, pulsing heart

Thews heaving to drag it through the fog.

Yes. YES.

Plunge your itching teeth inside,

Won’t you?

No thought this time

Consume

No hesitation

Devour

Only

Hunger