The Need
A ranging hunger deep inside,
a twisted coat of shame
a free-wielding fire
that nothing can contain
It can not be extinguished,
the searing sword of lust
to feed the growing hunger
that turns ashes into dust.
How insatiable it must feel,
the demanding, constant drive
when feeding the growing need
makes you feel alive.
It's variations of emotion,
where love is but discourse
because you crave something more
an intimate, emotional divorce.
Everything can't be cuddled,
making love will not suffice
where pain equals pleasure
needs aren't always nice.
The world is not a PG page,
nor only black and white
sometimes it calls for a freak
and not a gentle knight.
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