To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)

Famine

The trickling hunger that grows deep inside you

Twisting down cold into your shivering spine

Until you feel like you're starving, plain and true

And your other senses start to slowly decline

.

Feed and stuff down into your scratched throats

To sate and satisfy your darkest bleeding hunger

Gruesome temptations, on your tongue you choke

Caught under the spell of Famine's relentless lustre

.

Devouring to please your twisted satisfactions

Whether it be food, love, or other aspects stacked

Gourmandise, eat for the gorging's sweetest sensations

You consume on the devil until it consumes you back

.

Devour until your demise, till death do your gluttony part

Senseless, acting on your vices, longing, obsession, heart

For Famine has visited, his pallid demeanour deceiving

And he wants only the freshest souls to binge on--and he's starving.