A mere bite won’t satiate the shadow.
The smallest morsel can’t fill its appetite.
The hunger never ends and we’re precisely what it craves.
We shed a tear, the shadow sets the table.
We clench our fists; the shadow grips a fork.
We cower in fear; the shadow licks its lips …
Our dreams go great with wine,
and our hope is picked by toothpicks.
A portion of you is never enough.
It wants to pick you apart
piece by piece,
and leave your bones for the
dogs at his feet.