It sits in the belly like a parasite.  I hear its grumblings and feel its pangs, yet I dare not speak to it.  Too much it demands… too much, I say, and too seldom sated, or for too short a time when it is.

Scratching at my insides as though tortured endlessly, it beckons for one last meal, one more bite, one tidbit of this or that lest it die.  What a lonely voice it has.  What an empty sound…

Selfish is this needful thing bellowing “Too much!” or “Too soon!” or both when full whilst an hour later it screams in agony for want.

Silence, you devilish thing, silence I say.  I shall hear no more of your pitiful lamenting.

Yet it continues.  Beastly cravings it knows and nothing more, certainly nothing less.