The story goes that Vincent Van Gogh once tried to eat yellow paint because he wanted to feel yellow inside-that yellow was happiness. He drank turpentine and tried to eat some of his paints whilst in Saint-Rémy. But, if you read his letters-he wasn't trying to be yellow inside-he wanted to die.

Yellow, I think, would taste sharp and nutty.

It'd hurt you but,

It'd grab all of your attention at once
and coil round your tongue.
It'd choke you.

Not everyone can appreciate the curse of being undeniably captivating but distasteful for its own overtures.

Yellow is like biting into ruccola or cracking open hard sunflower seeds with your teeth. It stings at first but as soon as it's gone you want to recapture the feeling by trying again and again.

It's never the same.