WRITING: Want

I’m so hungry I could eat a bug. Or larvae, as they make you do on the Survivor.
I’m starving for the words that lay on other tables, prepared by chefs like Faulkner, Blake and Austen.
I’m hungry still, and threaten all mankind; their minds and bodies too I need devour.
Thirsty, I shall quench it with their tears, those unsipped as yet by me; the salt to flavor, crystalizing back to shape within my veins.
I see, I smell, I taste, I hunger for it all.