hatred sat at the table,

waiting on his usual meal.

servings of rumors, doubt,

and suspicion, but tonight

he sat alone. he waited

for the whispers that never came,

for the ruthless comments that fed him,

providing sustenance to

keep the fire of anger burning.

the longer he sits, the

more he craves, his ribs

begin to show, his voice

cracks as his threats

fall short. he wastes

and withers until he's

too weak to pound his fist,

too feeble to raise his head.

once a ominous darkness,

now, nothing more than a shadow.