The Hunger

It starts as a whisper, soft in the bones,
A flicker of warmth where the cold had grown.
A promise of quiet, a lull in the ache—
A fleeting escape that you didn’t quite take.

But soon it is louder than thoughts in your head,
It dances at night while you toss in your bed.
It sings like a siren, it claws like regret,
It teaches you how not to love or forget.

It wears different faces—bottle or pill,
A needle, a wager, a chase, or a thrill.
It’s clever and patient, it knows all your names,
It hides in your shadow and plays at your games.

Your friends start to vanish, your mirrors grow dim,
Your voice gets much smaller, while it learns to swim
In the depths of your soul where your secrets reside,
And soon, you’re the shell where the hunger can hide.

But somewhere inside, there’s a flickering flame,
A whisper of you still refusing the shame.
And maybe one day, you will stand and reclaim
The body, the mind, and the soul that it maimed.

For healing is brutal and breaking is loud,
But hope doesn’t care if you’re lost in the crowd.
It waits by the ruins with lantern in hand—
Not asking for answers, just helping you stand.