If my ears had tastebuds
“I hate you” would taste like
Regurgitated ice-cream
Now frothy and foamy with stomach acid

If my ears had tastebuds
“I love you” would taste like
Spicy chocolate covered *** berries

If ears had tastebuds
“I miss you” would taste like
The dissolving inside of merengue cookies

If my ears had tastebuds
Laughter would rise and pop like
Effervescent bubbles of celebration

If my ears had tastebuds
I would never be able to use a pillow again

If my ears had tastebuds
They are probably tired of
The constant metallic taste that appeared
The day the giant post obliterated their friends

"what is an addiction to you?" they asked, “well” you begin, “an addiction is having a cigarette, and just when you finish it, you feel like you need another one” but what you have yet to sink into are the depths of your imagination that you can’t care to to dwell on, because you’re too busy floating on the surface of your own soul.
You see,
An addiction is having your first taste of the igniting fumes as they dance on your tastebuds, manipulating the fact that no matter how good it may taste, that is what’s going to destroy you. its pushing the pessimism out of the inevitable because you’re fooled into being blind enough to think that this isn’t the thing thats going to **** you. It's the trick it plays when you think the smoke is beautiful as it caresses itself around your touch of naive passion, when the smoke is only the remains of the damage you’ve already faced.
It's a belonging you covetously latch onto in a desperate attempt to find any source of comfort, when you don’t even realise that it's only comforting because you’ve filled it up with everything you hate about yourself, every word you wish you never said, or thing you wish you never did. It's filled with every person you wish you never met and hurt you wish you never faced.
But maybe its the kind of addiction thats filled with everything you love about yourself, every word you wish you did say or thing you did do. Maybe its filled with every person you wish you spoke to, or hurt you wish you had to face. either way, you’ve locked that up so deep down inside of you that you’ve lost the possibility of an easy escape, you have to find something that destroys you to make it reappear, even if it's only a brief reminder. A delicate touch. A gentle wind of scent.  
You see, nothing is ever like your first addiction. You could be skimming pebbles before you realise to shoot stars, but no matter how much bigger or brighter that star may seem, it will never truly give you the same release that skimming that pebble did.
You let your addiction take over your senses because you believe thats the only thing that can give you a sense of comfort. You don't even begin to consider that this addiction is whats burning your withered soul into nothing but a pile of ashes, swept in the wind of humanity and reality. An addiction is living with the reality of rotting flesh and damaged bones; you can’t even stand alone because you’ve let your addiction glue itself with the fear of loneliness to your hand, so you think of nothing other than it being a part of you, an attachment, a parasite ******* the life out of you, whereas all you’ll ever believe is that its ******* the poison out of your pure blood.
An addiction is something you may not even realise you’re addicted to because you haven’t let yourself get hungry enough to lust for it. It's always there. It's destroying you. Even the smell of your addiction gives you a sense of relief that you’re not alone, when in fact the smell is there to remind you that you are trapped in a state of your own mind.
You have chosen to be oblivious to be the flaws it possesses, because at the time nothing can seem better than your first addiction, nothing in this world could beat the smell, the taste and the touch of your first addiction, and you have let that take over your senses to a stage where if that addiction was taken from you, it would hollow out your heart like a pin pricked egg.
No addiction is better for you than your first love.
Did you really think i was talking about the cigarette?

Two cakes
Both on my behalf
Carrot cake with a twist of lemon
Crunchie cheese cake
Complementary flavors
What a blend on the tastebuds
A birthday surprise
YUM YUM

At nine, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At ten, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At eleven, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no

At twelve, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said maybe later.

At thirteen, I had not shaved my legs
and my mother asked why, everyone wondered why –
that is like asking where I got my molars from
or why my tastebuds sizzle when I drink orange juice.  

Suddenly suddenly I was grown
but I had to hide every ****** tissue in the garbage.

Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
   dark, hard candies
   that melt into cream
a healing liquid  
oozing into my
               ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
           your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
  
My syllables will
   wrap themselves
      around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
                and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins

We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
                    of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs

Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
          cheek
            
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
     is how we
  love

I can still taste the words
from every bitter-sweet time
I bit my tongue
and they went unheard
even with all the blood
on my tastebuds

You’re like a white noise slushie
swirling off my sunburnt tastebuds.
I can’t quite catch you.
Those coffee driven evenings have destroyed my mouth’s ability
to make something stay.
See, whispered lollipop kisses used to work
but not half as well as my grape syrup words.
Teach me how to fix my salt-sugar body.
You don’t know how many times those candy coated sighs
“I love you”
have crossed my artificially sweetened lips.

Twirl your tastebuds —
let me taste your
modal schwa
your vellum staining
truth or dare,
let me down
your feather-quill;
your quenching quantum
quaking.

You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.

I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.

I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -

I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.

People show love in many ways
A note on the bathroom door
An extra brownie in your lunch box
Starting the car on a cold morning
For her it  was in her food
She cooked her emotions the way most chefs add salt
You could taste them clearly in every bite connecting your tastebuds to your heart,
If she was happy the steak melted on your tongue
If she was sad the soup made a tear glisten in your eye
But when she was in love with me
Every Bite sang in my mouth
She made my favorites every night
Life was good
But one day the bread wasn’t so fluffy
It held a melancholy note i’ve never tasted before
I asked what was wrong but she didn’t have the words to explain what she as feeling,
So I let it go
That was my mistake
Day by day, she started to crumble
So did her pies
She went from a wonder dancing in the kitchen and licking the spoon
To a hollow shell serving you lukewarm pasta that left you unsettled
I excused her behavior
I was busy she was stressed
The food was only cold because I was so late to the table
I didn’t realize it wasn’t dinner I was neglecting
It was her
If i could change one moment in my life, i’d be that night
The one where she finally felt up to baking again
We had some time together, she hummed a bit as she stirred the batter
But then she stumbled and dropped a glass measuring cup of milk she was holding
It was bitter irony seeing the woman i loved,
The light of my life,
Crying over spilled milk
That’d be the moment i’d change
I’d catch her wrist and hold her up
Just Like I promised I would
I wouldn’t fail her if I had another chance
Our kitchen is quiet these days
There's a thick layer of dust everywhere except the microwave
And around the edges of the room are tiny bits of glass
Glistening like diamonds
Or unshed tears,
Abandoned like me
But I can’t complain
After all, I abandoned her first
I should have read the recipe
I should have realized she was breaking
I didn’t see it at first
But every bite held a piece of her suicide note
If i’d only tasted it before it was too late
Now she’s gone
My hearts as broken as that measuring cup
And I’m the one crying over spilled milk

By Aknier     ~this is fictional~