A Collection of Thoughts

Chased

All my life I have been running from something.
It emerges from the shadows of my own dark mind.
Its claws tear up clods of Earth as it rampages.
Coarse howls and guttural snarls haunt me day and night.
It never rests, always prowling.

Searching.

Wandering.

Waiting.

Its patience never thins, as it has desired to swallow me up for as long as I can remember.
Its hunger can only be pacified by the energy I leave behind.
The energy I surrender to it.
For many years, that has been sufficient enough to quench its thirst.
But it is growing restless.
Quietly festering in its comfortable cavity.
Sober and docile, ready to gnaw on the cartilage in my bones.
The more given is more taken, and it always wants more.

It is hungry.

Denial is a fatal mistake, as it greedily draws from me more and more.
Negotiations are invalid, as the creature hardly listens to reason.
It is futile to compromise with an unsettled dynamo.
No privacy rests within my mind, for I am never alone in my own head.
My thoughts haven't been sacred for a very long time.
Now,
there has been a shift.
I can sense a change, and I know it can feel it too.
It can feel everything, for every thought that resonates in my own head isn't entirely mine.
I don't get the privilege of intimacy within my own body.
I refuse to give up any more of myself for the sake of appeasement.

It is hungry.

Its concrete patience is being tested.
The desire to dine on something truly exquisite is enough to endure famine.
Each passing day invites desire, only to be met with denial.
I will not give in.
I can feel how it craves.
A bristly tongue grazes sharpened fangs, tantalizing itself with the thought of sustenance.
Starvation ensues.
Now, in its shameless desperation, it is moving

Frantically.

Unnaturally.

Almost obscenely.

Its pride has been compromised, falling to gluttony.
Sin giving into sin yields catastrophe.
The threat of death is enough to quell even the fiercest of egos.
It finally pounces,
chaotically snapping its jaws.
Infection is inevitable, for the notion of consumption already lies within us.
Within me.
Only an excuse is needed to devour.
In circumstances like this, it is justifiable to be carnivorous.

I am hungry.

I take the creature's throat in my jaws, and relish in the satisfying crackle of its vertebrae.
I close my teeth around its esophagus, allowing one last chilling sound to escape from behind its fangs.
Its once ferocious roar is reduced to one,
final,
pathetic shriek.
It convulses.
Its muscles are straining against me.
The gamey flavor of iron saturates my tongue.
The hot, viscous liquid drains down my chin,
coating my body with the deep scent of death.
Tendons sporadically contract, then give way.
Strong legs flail.
Its head thrashes violently.
A foamy mixture of saliva and darkened blood oozes from its gnashing mouth.
Black eyes deranged with panic,
as it draws its last,
wheezing breath.

Silence.

It's body turns flaccid, dangling lifeless in my jaws.
I ingest the creature, piece by piece until it becomes one with me yet again.
The energy stolen from me is absorbed back into my system, still warm and humming with life.
Balance has once again been restored.
All is well with my once restless soul knowing that hunger nor famine will ever afflict me again.