The HookA Poem by SLOVA
I've let go all but with the fingertips
I stay for the humor and the notoriety Because I'm being fed these scraps of acknowledgement that don't satisfy me for more than the moment I eat it If I stay, these scraps will starve me until there is nothing of me left But a jittering need from hunder that wails Only quietly when I am fed But loudly the otherwise
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