Through pangs of want, the cravings of desire.
Driven slowly mad by the smell of meat
And gristle and bone and sin. GLORIOUS!
And still, there is no satiation here.
The empty rumbling is omnivorous.
There is no safety in this weakened state.
Perhaps a rest from the chewing and thus,
A great belch of relief, rekindling a fire
That now burns twice as fast to a drumbeat
Faster than death comes. I, victorious.
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