of hunger & hope

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

doesn't matter how much i eat, doesn't matter how much i laugh, there's still something missing from my arms, without which i could not be truly glad. perhaps that's how over the years i'd lost some weight, food is not quite what it once was, when i compare it to the thirst, of what my soul craves: a heart for a heart, that is the mirror's exchange, to give and to receive, in turn and in kind, what's precious and so easily bleeds. but blood is often willingly given, either lyrical transfusion or vampiric incision, the method matters little, simply a hope it sustains in you, what only grows from within.