The Weight of Hunger

A suffocating softness,

you curl around the edges

of unspoken fears.

Thick as the night,

you slide through the cracks

of abandoned places,

sweet and bitter as regret.

Not warmth—

but the memory of it,

coated in ash,

velvet in its decay.

You carry the weight

of too many promises,

melting,

dissolving into shadows.

Mocha mousse,

you are the ghost of hunger,

the taste of sin wrapped in silk.

A quiet choke,

a tender ruin,

the way darkness seduces

with softness.

In your depths

lie the things we cannot speak—

the slow unraveling,

the sickly sweet pull

of wanting too much

and never enough.