Idle Hunger
FACE ME!
I look in the mirror and see my reflection. The bags under his eyes. The redness spilling from the edges—bloodshot. It’s dead. Blood spilling from the corners, dreams crushed and forced out of my mind, pooling into my pupils.
LOOK AT ME!
My hands twitch, grabbing at the rope, dreams threaded together like a noose to hang from as I look down at the opportunities passed. Dreams that seek to choke me if I do not stand tall enough.
LOOK ME IN THE FACE!
I close my eyes, terrified and unable to raise meet the gaze of my own reflection. It is not shame.
LOOK AT ME!
It is not fear.
LOOK AT ME!
It is not anger.
LOOK AT ME!
No. It is something far more sinister. It grabs my neck tightly and lifts my head until our eyes meet.
Do you see me now?
Its eyes look over my shoulder. Its legs wrapped around my waist, thin from a hunger long lost.
It clings to me—a sloth to a tree.
I return to my desk and stare at my name at the top corner of a blank page.
The avarice of a dreaming writer.