literature

Skin Hunger

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Literature Text

It sneaks up quietly, spending no more time in one place than another,
Whispering softly into an ear with nothing more to draw attention.
Unaware, she sits in silence, waiting for days to pass, nights to end, dreams to fade away.
It begins its subtle terror in darkness, fading everything from bright to gray.

Shame prevents her from finding the cure, though she knows it well enough,
Time and movement preclude answers and the stretch ahead is even more rough.
When awareness dawns, she scorns the truth, having heard the whispers in her ears:
Pleasant dreams turn into scrabbling nightmares; contentment gives way to tears.

She watches from afar, nibbles and sips where she may, but never finds herself replete.
She echoes dreams and wishes, trying to keep her place, protect her home, appear discreet:
It doesn't take long to realize that the walls push inward when the voices speak too clearly.
She'd ask for a reprieve, but the consequences come entirely too dearly.

White wall and voices far away, words printed and sent by dot and dash through the sky
Are never enough – cannot fill the need – do not ever, ever satisfy.
The depths, the need, the distance to the end are all painfully, searingly known,
But tonight, and beyond, she sits, tired, hungry, alone.  
Written when I was feeling down one night.
© 2012 - 2024 thecookiemomma
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