i miss your hunger.
a hunger like freedom
to eat your fantasy;
sustaining yourself with a mouthful of whims,
always wondering why the world
will not partake of this meal,
as you try to choke it down stubborn throats
force feeding the multitude
a feast of your wildest dreams,
but now you are fat
and never come out to play.
you stay inside your house of fat contentment, pacified.
i miss your hungry spirit.
michaelmcguirt 