Hunger need

Today I think I'll write a little scene...my poetry is making me a little bored, so here is something a little different. Thank you again for all the veiws :)

It tastes like metal. Like an old piece of pipe that has been left out to rust in the late fall weather. Blood. You think I would be use to it by now, and not so afraid of what it evokes within me. An odd little stirring starts at the tips of my toes. Within seconds it's all the way to the top of my head, and I can resist it anymore. Launching forward I take what is due, never enough to kill. Only enough to satisfy the over whelming craving. It's never enough though. The constant flow of need, of lust, of hunger, startles me. I can't control it. The one thing I can't control. The one thing. My need to kill.