A/N: I realise this may not make sense on first reading, but there is meaning to it. It's intentionally confusing, to get you to think twice about it. Okay, that's the classic "ooh I'm so pretentious" bad writer's excuse, but still…

So, yeah. Reviews? :)

.-.

You made it.

Finally.

You've crossed the bridge to Hungerland.

.-.

Hungerland.

You took the train through danger half the way,

And hitchhiked the other half –

thumb out, chin up, cigarette in hand.

You waited out the stops in between

And smiled at every junkie, every truck driver

That picked you up off the road

And set you off spinning on a crazy journey to nowhere.

.-.

Hungerland.

It's not like anywhere you've been before.

It's a harsh place, a cold place –

empty roads, hatstand trees, and grey air.

High danger buzzing, gingersmoke, the sound of drums.

A world where even the clouds taste hollow.

It's lit by icy UV lights, paved with mirrors

And everywhere you go, you can see yourself.

Gaze down at your feet, and the ground reflects your eyes.

Your face is written in the clouds, the size of a hundred loaded plates.

.-.

That face.

That body.

You.

You can't look away –

You can't avoid it –

You can't get away from it –

and every time you see it, it reminds you of your failures.

You failed drinking.
Failed school.
Failed cutting.
Failed friends.
Failed eating.
Failed everysingleotherthing.

I guess it's good you're in control.

.-.

But so long as you keep walking on through Hungerland,

So long as you don't stop,

at the end of that curving witch path there is everything you wanted.

Fame.

Beauty.

Success.

So keep on walking, darling.

You can't stop now.

Keep walking, keep breathing and keep surviving.

One foot in front of the other.

In and out.

.-.

You're on the road to Hungerland,

You're travelling with the best of 'em –

the glamour models, the singers, the strutters, the sashayers.

Karen Carpenter's riding shotgun, microphone in hand.

Sings, We've only just begun, honey, and waves you on your way.

.-.