This is the life I have always lived. But it seems, it has not always been this way.
Foods of all colors, all sizes, delightful. Appealing, enticing, heavenly, deceitful.
The taste and texture are monotonous. Tasteless, senseless. Misleadingly luscious.
Jelly-like, all wiggly and squishy. Not tender or juicy. Just ordinary.
Temperate. No steam, no fog, no cream. No melt, no freeze, no cold, no breeze.
The noisy bite, the crackles, the crunch does not exist in a trillion lunch.
To see no fizz, no bubbles, no ranch. No sauces or dips. No glaze. No punch.
No need to grind, to munch, to crumble. Mumble without pepper, powder, then stumble.
No acid. No bitter or burning sensation. No sour. No zest and sweet adoration.
Far from sharp pungent smell or taste. The total absence of distinction is waste.
No appetizing start or lingering finish. There is stale desire to eat no more.
Unflavored. Unseasoned. Eating is treason.
Stuck in a prison of complete oblivion.
YOU ARE READING
The Life I Lived
PoetryA poem about what future life could possibly be--specifically what people would probably eat to continue on surviving.
