A Taste of Depression

It tastes like a cold soup prepared in love but left to sit and cool alone on empty counter tops It is lonely pyramids and forgotten sands that whisper secrets with dry mouths and parched lips that go unheard and untried It is the trees that cry in cracks by the wind and scream when the fire licks to cook It tastes like the last drop of water and a sweetness that brings you back a memory of past happiness that only arises with that taste it is the taste of desperation and empty breathe when you wish to swallow everything but cannot reach for anything it is the taste that enjoys you it is salty and bitter and less than fairly traded it cries in the boiling water before being dipped in butter and designed on a plate it is the taste of regret when the consequence is the preparation and the bite is from the tree of life it tastes like indulgence and wines for its companion it is the taste of the meal that comes by candles and dines in the dark that cooks slowly and burns with expectations it melts in your mouth and stops at hearts it bleeds when bitten and squeals from sourness it is spicy and formless, scalding and unidentifiable it leaves invisible scars it is cream and dull, memory and thick it is the strawberry handpicked and the salad mixed with caring hands and it, is everything More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/12/12/a-taste-of-desperation/