the hunger has left but a different longing remains.
a hole that encompasses you and will not spit you out, just allow trails of truth and beauty to seep out.
you dress in a suit of conformity but shake in it's stodgy livery when your senses ignite as the heart pumps and burns.
your taste buds sour over but you can smell it in books old and new, hear it in sweet and punchy melodies and see it posing in the underground.
it is the forgotten art of art.
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