hunger

He stands stark, in the corner, presence often ignored, unwanted, yet always there. An evil, bony grin lingers on his face, pressing on the olive air. His emaciated form echoes that of those he afflicts. Smudged with dirt, ragged clothing hangs in tatters off his body, but he doesn't mind. In the duty assigned to him, he excels, is well-fed in that way. He is present in endless homes, slowly leeching the life and will out of otherwise strong souls. He is happy with his results, but in the back of his mind there is a hollow space filled with doubt and regret.