Maw

Hunger... It's always there, like a void that seeks only to devour everything. I can only sate it for a while, but it always comes back, demanding its due, growling for a new offering. It's there, like a bottomless pit. It's there, like a master that can never be satisfied. Hunger... I know that nothing – no sacrifice, no libation – can make it feel any sense of satisfaction. It's there, like an open maw with sharp fangs. It's there, with the ultimate goal of gobbling up everything. Because it knows that there's a meal here much more nourishing than a mere series of ideas. It devours. It gnashes. It salivates at the idea of its next feast...

Lindiwe

376 AC