Hunger Pains

Like a shard of wood has ruptured something
already crippled inside me, I feel a kind of
agony that I can't recall ever feeling before.
It's a strange sort of revelation,
like a fever too close to the lungs.
Breathing becomes a chore I'd never
had to wake up early for before.
I don't want to wake;
hit snooze, sleep forever.

Your words are like a source of
energy that I just hadn't found before.
Being starved of them is like healing
from a wound; a ruptured progress
that just failed to reach some kind of
completion. Discomfort -
a blow to the head that knocked me for six
and then six more again.

Old tales help the wound to glisten
a kind of shine that makes me know
eventually, things might be better.
They may be worse -
but a story can never be predicted,
not truly.

And hunger always hurts.