You open the fridge and not much you will see.

A daunting emptiness of cold.

A half gallon of milk sits alone,

And a container of soup filled with mold.

You search through cabinets with hope.

Wanting no more than a crumb,

But all you find is dust and webs.

The hunger is making you numb.

You search through your pockets,

Praying for coins to fall.

Maybe a small sandwich you can buy,

But no coins, just a lint ball.

You feel the hunger consuming you now,

In the kitchen, desolate and full of demand.

No one will know your struggle,

Because how would they ever understand?