moon therapy

the saga of hunger and empty

Introducing two inhabitants of my brain: 

Hunger is red-lipped and curvy and hunger is nasty and spiteful and it claws and shouts and screams and breaks down walls with hammers that it pulls from thin air. Hunger is always poring over glossy magazines, its oily legs dancing in the air. Hunger is always changing its hairstyles and always surfing the web for a new pair of shoes. Hunger smells like vanilla and coconut on good days and like rotten sweat on bad days. Hunger pushes itself to run till its damn near breaking and hunger's heart cracks in half when it watches romantic movies. Hunger misses the touch of your fingers on its skin and when it even remotely thinks about your name or the way your hair curled slightly after a morning run or the way you laugh with your eyes and barely with your mouth and especially when someone dares to mention something that shares the first letter of your name Hunger wants to tear itself to pieces with tooth and claw. When someone mentions bananas, or boxers, or the Beatles, or beer pong, Hunger wants to give up and crawl back to its room and lie there and pretend like it can still smell you. Hunger wants to meet all the guys it possibly can to see if maybe one of them can be half a man that you were. Hunger is always running and screaming and blasting Bad Suns to make a point that it is alive. Hunger wears bright neon to show people that Hunger exists. Hunger wants to fall desperately in love with every man to make up for the fact that it is hopelessly in love with one. Hunger buys up all the coffee at Target and then hides it in its wardrobe and uses none of it. Hunger is always looking, always searching, always lost. Hunger keeps walking and moving and burning off weight but Hunger has nowhere to go. Hunger is lording over an empty, broken street. 

Empty is thin and blue-skinned and looks like it has not gotten any sunlight since it was born. Empty lives in an auditorium by itself, wears velvet curtains as clothes, wears sunglasses to hide its eyes, and hears echoes in its head. Empty forgets what the sound of its voice sounds like and then remembers that it never really had a voice to begin with. Empty doesn't want anybody; the thought of dancing at a party with a guy with a flannel that smells like Drakkar Noir and a shark tooth necklace makes Empty want to vomit into the concave center of that empty auditorium. Empty dances anyway, but in a way that makes the guy tell Empty that it is not worth his time. Empty enjoys taking long walks at night, sneaking past happy people and trying to steal the moon out of the sky. Empty does not believe that the sky deserves such a pretty light when all it does is just lie there and change colors once in a while. Empty is cold and anemic, Empty doesn't say a word. Ice cream makes Empty feel like it is in a cage. Empty sometimes eats mint chocolate chip ice cream and tastes you on its tongue. Empty sometimes sits in the back of its friend's car and watches the road flash past and thinks about how sometimes you used to drive like that, one elbow on the windowpane and your other arm resting lazily on the wheel. Empty grips the steering wheel like it is the only thing it has left to hold onto. Empty is allergic to coffee. Empty retreats back into the auditorium at night and lets the echoes dance around its head. Empty writes plays for no one, operas for no one, sings for no one. Empty closes its eyes. The moon dances behind its eyelids, naked and curvy and bright.