Frozen Chocolate.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A pretty old one.

Submitted: February 12, 2008

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Submitted: February 12, 2008

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I need chocolate. There is something about the rich taste that drives me to utter insanity. The way that every morsel of crafted goodness melts into my mouth, sending my taste buds on a wave of tranquility. I reach for my freezer door. I open it. The chocolate is there. It’s small box cries out to me Eat me, it says. Take me for what I am, it begs. The chocolate is there. Dark. Brown. Frozen. Frozen. Frozen. My mother freezes the chocolate. She always freezes the chocolate. I still eat it though. I have to bite into the hard exterior It is not rich. It is not delicious. It is not a venture within itself. It is cold. I hate cold things. Old and grumpy talking heads on the television are cold My hands when I am sick are clammy. And cold. The bite of the wind in the winter is cold. A dead body rotting in a forgotten coffin is cold. This once luscious chocolate Is cold My mother freezes the chocolate. She always freezes the chocolate. I hate cold things.


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