Hunger is a passion. It sears and claws and begs… Feed me… touch me… consume me… Take this part of me that wants. It is dying to be free. Feel it, smooth and soft, and jagged. Breathe in the scent of discontent. Embrace the folds of tenderized skin. There is beauty somewhere here; it is dying to be seen. Stoke the flame, stroke the shame, bring me to my knees.