FEEDER —

A face lit pale 
By midnight glow
A thumb that twitches
Fast then slow

A screen that hums
In liquid blue
Then serves the next
Then serves the new

A pulse that spikes
A fleeting prize
But nothing left
Behind the eyes

A drip of want
A measured hit
Come on honey
Just the tip

A mind on loop
A narrowed cone
Bone-lit flesh
Before a phone

Each swipe a spark
Each spark a need
A wired hunger
Fed by feed

The body stays
But the will is gone
While the thumb moves
On and on and on



_
Pikthall is a writer.