Sometimes thirty, mostly thirty-one.
Always dirty, an uncounted sum.
Thirty-one flavors, ushered in through a revolving door.
Unclean favors, morals left dissolving on the floor.
Hours and minutes pass.
Sometimes you’ll try for seconds, but it’s unfulfilling and never lasts.
It's always just a taste, each day a different flavor.
An ongoing waste, failing to see your spirit waver.
Thirty-one flavors, again you’ve hit the cap.
Nothing left to savor, So, Back onto the app.
As you search, seek, rinse, and repeat.
You wonder how long it’s been since you were compelled to the edge of your seat.
The months go by, as you merely exist on the dark side.
Without breath left for a sigh, a realization surfaces that can no longer hide.
Thirty-one flavors, samples easily consumed by cheap, hollow affections.
They leave as empty spoons, added to a list of superficial connections.
You once called it “Fun”, being trapped by the flesh and bound to soulless games.
When all is over and done, you can’t even seem to recall the sound of their names.
Self-deceiving, believing the consumer was simply you.
Yet according to the all choices on the menu, you were merely just a sample flavor too.