The Midnight Taste

The clock strikes three in silent air,

These words are born from hollow light.

A weight of thoughts too much to bear,

Within the shadows of the night.

The candy sits upon the tongue,

A little sweet, a little sour.

The songs of love that once were sung,

Have faded in this lonely hour.

But honey turned to bitter sting,

The softest words began to punch.

The pain is now the only thing,

That breaks with every heavy crunch.

The tolerance has run its course,

The sugar lost its golden glow.

And love is now a dark remorse,

With nowhere left for it to go.

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Day 71 / 365

At 3 a.m., the truth has a way of rising to the surface, tasting more like salt than sugar.

Love often starts with that perfect balance.

A little sweet and a little sour.

It’s the honesty that packs a punch, the softness that provides the cushion.

But over time, the sugar can dissolve, leaving behind nothing but the sting.

It becomes a slow realization that the sourness wasn't just a flavor; it was a warning.

Tolerating the pain is like ignoring a sore;

The constant irritation eventually becomes impossible to swallow.

When the sweetness is gone and only the bite remains,

The soul recognizes that the balance hasn't just shifted, it has broken.

Sometimes, the love doesn't stay;

It just turns into a lesson about when to finally let go.

#themidnighttaste #inkfromnobody #fyp #foryou #foryoupage