I’m hungry.
Starving.
Dying.
Alone.

Im in need,
but how far would I go?
What would I do to feed my soul?
Would I consume the brambles before me,
knowing each bite would tear me apart?

I bite down and taste only blood.
The ache remains,
a hunger that gnaws at my edges.
I need this, but it hurts.

So I wrap myself in thorns,
cut my skin to ribbons,
just to feel something—
anything.

Maybe now that I’m cut and bleeding,
someone will notice.

…

Maybe not.