Unfillable Pit

Desire is merely emptiness lasting 
long enough for a dire span of fasting
to fade the sweetness of last time's tasting, 
leaving one breathless and for air gasping. 

Sinister my void grows, hunger gnawing, 
thirst enlarging despite ever drawing 
from the well that promises restoring 
water, but instead strengthens its calling.

I desire rich words like honey dripping. 
To simple phrases my ears stay gripping
in hopes of cheers and compliment sipping, 
but instead I fear connections slipping. 

Desire is merely emptiness lasting
long enough for a dreadful breakfasting
to prove there's no use in truly tasting
meals best kept sealed in condition pristine. 

This was written for no good reason. Just felt like it.

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