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.