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/
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