Hunger begins after midnight
Stagger
Down
the
Shifting
Stairs
Cold kitchen floor.
Scrape a gritty spoon in the pot
the package says whisk constantly
the perpetual movement of a circling wrist
Spiraling mind.
Scrape the pot
Harder.
The squeal of metal against metal
Hard to tell if in pleasure or in pain.
Hunger begins after midnight
Because I'm in the kitchen trembling in a cold
Night's Grasp.
The bed is empty after midnight.
Mind.
Empty.
Soul.
Empty.
I'm still scraping you off it all.
















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