Swirling and mixing with others, a secluded and empty - though yet filled with sorrow - spirit within me screams to be released.
Hunger.
None yet know the hungers of one such as I. None yet know such things and shan’t belittle such feelings of inconsistency and trapped solitude until they see.
My head’s swerving, searching for things yet to be found. Should they ever be found? My mouth moving, tracing lightly over words that shan’t ever be heard; feet dangling over the cold concrete, landing with hard blows that intensify head aches that were caused from it.
Hunger.
A fiery and burning sensation, filling my solar plexus greedily, leaving but an icy chill within the middle, shooting through my chest, throat, out my mouth in a hurried sigh as I fall in the intersection.
Lights and screaming don’t block it out, for nothing can stop the two feuding feelings within me, threatening to tear me apart if so be.
Hunger.
And... before I know it, I’m no longer within the sea of lights and screaming; no longer in the rain that I didn’t know I was feeling; no longer staring up at the blinking red hand on the poll across the street in incomprehensive helplessness.
I’m alone. His hallway of his apartment, and then I feel it again. It’s stronger and the content of my stomach threaten to heave, though there is nothing left to lose. How ironic such things represent the entirety of my useless life.
Hunger.
I crawl to his door, people passing me; used to my pathetic actions. A child glances my way and runs to help, though the mother grabs her hand and pulls her into a door. A tear falls, and the feeling feels hollow suddenly; as if knowing the horrible fact.
My horrible secret, the one he shan’t ever know. How I’m so sterile and pure, opposing all of my aspirations. Purity must be lost and without such actions, a woman is nothing. I am nothing, and will never be.
Hunger.
Starving and yelling, attacking me inside-out, it calls, but there’s nothing to feed. Only my shell - nothing as I claw at his door. And, lifting myself up by the knob, biting my lip and drawing blood, I suck it from the wound.
I send one knock and fall to the ground with a thud, the single thing that caught his attention. I hear footsteps; three pairs walking away, one coming toward me. The light beneath the crack of the door shines and it opens. He pulls me into his arms.
Such undying hunger.
“You’ve not been eating again.” his rich voice claims, his warm and calloused hand brushing my tears away. A small nod is what I offer. “You can’t do this.” He stands with me leaning against him, pulling me into the apartment.
The door shuts behind me and I stand feebly in the door way. As if expecting me, he offers a plate of food. “You must feed yourself... and...” With his free hand, he caresses my stomach and I sob harder, him setting the plate down onto the table and pulling me to the couch.
Such horrible hunger.
I eat next to him, leaning on him and crying as one of the hungers fill. When I finish, he leans toward me, whispering something before I fall toward him, my lips brushing his in the passing. He smiles warmly down at me as I lay helplessly and pathetically in his lap.
He brushes my tears away like he’s done so many times before, and sets to appealing to my other hunger; a fruitless endeavor.
Such decaying hunger.
I don't know what this is; the words kind of spilled out and I seemed to have created a story about a sterile woman who can't have children, though continuosly tries. Whenever the pregnancy tests prove negative, she starves herself... I guess as punishment.
View User's Journal
Reality and Wishes
 |
