The Color of Hunger

It is not the blue of an empty stomach,

But rather the gray of an empty soul.

It is the touch of rain clouds on wanting fingers,

Reaching out to grab something insubstantial,

Crystal clear.

It is the pale thirst for inspiration,

The itchy sensation and the rattling emptiness at the core.

Forever parched, forever starved.

It is the starless night whose clouds block the view to the heavens,

And wrap the moon in their suffocating embrace.

It is the room whose doors are never opened and

Whose windows are never peered out of.

It is the path that was never trodden and

The photo frame that was never filled.

There on the edge of it all

Sits a faded little bird, perched on a windowsill

Fearing the open air.

Just a little poem I had hastily written a while back. Let me know what you think!


Thoughts? I love those.

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