I am hungry for recognition; affirmation; creativity.
The brushes are picks to remove the paint flecks from my teeth.
Page by page I devour my own words, choking on the dry paper.
I drown myself in the notes; the melodies being gulped down gallon by gallon.
My thirst is insatiable as my mouth is again dry.
Nobody notices. As my body begins to shrink.
All of my time is spent devouring my craft, swallowing my trade.
I begin to slow as my body weakens.
I lose touch with my dedication to this feat.
I tentatively place the swatch on my tongue,
Taking slow bites of that camera.
And for once I let the hunger consume me
My limbs weak and frail I can no longer support my eating habits.
My arm too weak to lift to my mouth.
Occasionally I attempt to force the graphite down my throat, but the polaroid burns as it comes back up.
I am no longer hungry.
I no longer feel that remembered emptiness; wanting to be filled.
The motivation to consume has escaped me.
If it will return I do not know.
But for now,
I will continue to starve.