S T A R V I N G--
 Itâs practically starving, ( with so little to eat ),
awoken from its l o n g  r e s t  so far from where the humans run free & careless.
( Much too far to clamber off towards without a full belly first, )
& in times like these, the clown cannot be.... p i c k y.
 The songbird in his grasp struggles & stutters,Â
 chittering with ignorant indignationÂ
& Pennywise can feel its rapid heartbeat under his fingers.Â
 ( Drool gathers, thick & sticky against his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin )
as he squeezes & the thing lets out a shrill screech, struggling against his grasp.
 Itâs more than he can stand-- even what little fear it is drives the creature of impossibility to the brink,Â
 his stomach aching, his eyes rolling back as his lips part, & his jaw swings open, moving his hands to shove the tortured little thing into his maw-
& then something is heard ( a rustle of leaves, a break of a twig perhaps-- )
 enough to turn the gaze of the crouching d e m o n.
Enough to make him relinquish his grasp on the songbird,
which goes flying in a panic toward the treetops.Â
( a lost meal. )
But by the scent of it, Pennywise wonât be missing much.Â
Not with something better so close by.
 It stands, then,Â
raising slowly, like a marionette with broken strings,Â
 his hands dangling at his sides,Â
 his white & crimson features lax,Â
 golden eyes trained on the clearing beyond.Â
& then he catches sight of the WOMAN,Â
 & a smile begins to spread.Â
  â Hullo----! Whatâs a nice girl like you doing out here,
 in these weeds & trees & thorns? âS no place for a pretty little flower like yourself-- âÂ
