I want it.

I saw it, and I desired it.

I cannot have it, they say. It is not mine, they say. It will never be mine, they say. But still the want is there. Quiet, yearning, hoping, planning. They say…they say many things, but I tune out the prattle. I do not like what they say. They say to be content. Content! Instead I am filled with contempt. They are weak. They do not take what is not theirs. They smile and pretend and wile away in their mediocre existence.

I am not content. I want it still. I think of it, often. More and more, it steals into my thoughts, invading and supplanting and consuming until all that remains is my yearning. Did I once think of other things? I believe so, but do not try. Those thoughts were empty; they will not lead me to have what I want. I will have it, yes.

It is mine.

I wanted it and I took it, and it is mine. Ahh, what joy! What satisfaction! I wanted and I yearned and thus I plotted and planned and I took it. Surely I am greater than they, they who tutted and wagged their fingers in disapproval. They have nothing. I have what I want. I did it, by my machinations, my motivation, my will.

I am discontent. I have achieved my goal and made it mine, yet I do not know peace. Should I? They say I should. They say that now I should be content, and focus my energies elsewhere. Selfish, they said. Could it be so? I brush these thoughts aside. No, not selfish. I am strong, that is all. I wanted, and I took. Yet satisfaction has faded.

I am empty. Wretched and listless and empty. It makes perfect sense now, yes. Like a beggar who has stuffed himself at the King’s table until he could eat no more, and thought himself satisfied. But fleeting was his contentment, and the meal is a distant memory as hunger again claws at his belly and he dreams of dining again, only this time he will not stop, he will eat more…

Oh yes. I am hungry.

Such a small thing it was. Inconsequential. I would have been a fool to settle for crumbs, to be content in mediocrity like they are. I have a new desire. I saw it, and I want it. No, I HUNGER for it. I am consumed by my need, this overwhelming, unending yearning that I cannot ignore, that I will not ignore. Because I want it, and I will have it. Plotting, reaching, manipulating, pushing, taking. I deserve it. I want it, want it, mine, hungry, so hungry.

Satiation is short, always hungry. Always more, another, want, need, mine. They speak no more, or I do not hear, hungry. Only hunger, only sweet triumph, it is mine, then to the next, never ceasing, more. I am stronger, stronger, hungry, I want it, it is mine. More and more, never enough, so satisfying.

I want, I need, I yearn, hungry.