Wolf
I'm starving while the world around me
Is overflowing in poetry
I find it funny that I could feed upon
The heaps of unread stories
And still find myself being fed less and less
By the authors who throw away their voices
Like scraps that are better wasted for a nightstand,
Bought in a place unsatiated to their lust in being known,
so I write another poem
and I starve, like a wolf,
Oh how I starve.
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