I feel the hunger pains and my head is growling for great poetic satisfaction
Seems these days all I’m feeding off of is pigeon food, fed to me in molecule fractions
And your lines are not fulfilling the emptiness I feel inside and my brain cells are starting to feel weak
I’m scared of becoming anorexic but I’d rather starve than to keep reading these writes that are bleak
No heart in your writes is worst than no orgasm in your sex and that’s the #1 no-no rule
I can’t poetically fuck you and get none in return cuz mama didn’t raise no fool

I’m hungry for that passion that once graced our soul’s when my thoughts dated my pen
They fucked like rabbits and had babies in forms of poems, I wanna go back to those days again
But the fire and the flames that once burned the pages of my notebook were secretly washed out
Now I’m writing on paper with no lines and a pen with no ink, in a fucked up poetic drought

And I have no inspiration to write, and honestly no reason to rhyme, so I chose to starve and lay my pen down
Reading through hundreds of poems trying to find a lyrical spark to ignite my thoughts but couldn’t find any around
So I started re-reading all my old joints and was nicely surprised at the masterpieces that I’ve created
But in the same breathe it saddens me that motherfucker’s writes have become so got damn sedated

But despite the coldness I can still hear the growling, I’m STARVING, somebody please feed my mind
I’m tired of eating green eggs and ham, I want a 5 course meal with a hint of expensive poetic wine
I want eat steak and lobster and feast my thoughts on visionary illusions in the form of creativity or innovative lines
I don’t know how long a person can survive without food but I’m starting to feel the heart beats decline

Somebody please…….. FEED ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!