The Guilt On My Tastebuds

They said life will give me surprises

I frantically grabbed my boxes and undid the ribbons.

I did realise it was last year's gift done up in a new silver sheet.

Have you ever fancied that pattesserie with pink frosting and jellies?

Or the glossy piece of fresh chocolate cake, from across the street?

Inviting you from behind the dispaly window of a fancy shop, with a prohibitive price and a name you can't pronounce.

You don't want the whole, Just an ounce

To taste.

So for a week you don't overspend, save a penny here and eat at home.

It's funny because you can buy it

But you want to 'Deserve' it.

You can wish it off the shelf but you want Santa to serve it

So when it's finally "well-deserved, politically correct and legit",

You can cross the street to get it.

And the first bite tastes like the frosting is too old and the bread too soggy

The sweet too synthetic and the cream too flaky.

So you toss it into the bin and walk away,

With a smile

Rembering the last time you did the same, and before that

And before that

And infinite number of times before that

And yet somehow each time, the new frosting leads me to think

That this time, when I my teeth sink into the cake

It would be different.

I smile because I am proud that I shoved it down the bin and not my throat, right after the first bite.

little do I talk of the flavour that ligers suffocatingly on my taste buds in the most bitterly organic manner.

You perfect the pretention of 'I-make-only-right choices' after making the same wrong one's again and again.

Maybe that's how frostings and sprikles tatse

Or maybe my taste buds have gone too elite for them.

These patteserries, gentlemen, have been the people in my life;

And the frostings, my achivement.

A bit too synthetic, a bit too flaky.