For what it worth. Every inch of me. Aches. In pain. And agony... Yet. Not in the way you. Percieve. I anger. At all the moments that remain. Tucked away. Solemn. The quiet. Deafens me. Torment in the likes of hidden emotions. Behind pleasant smiles. I come crawling. Beaten. Starving. I hunt the ever elusive affection. Most nights it remains just out of reach. I cannot deny. This desire. Regardless of what i have sustained. Each wound evaporates by morning. And with each new moon. Do i become. A more perfect hunter.