Eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon,
Watching a TV show when I should be working:
Is this the life of the brokenhearted?
Why do we eat ice cream, though? Why is it the choice food of comfort?
Is it because ice cream is both cold—numbingly so—and soothing?
It takes away all feeling while giving you the comfort of familiar and exotic flavours;
Fills you up with nothing, essentially—
Or at least nothing healthy—
But fills you nonetheless.
It leaves you content for the interim, before the heartbreak strikes again
And leaves you craving that ice cold comfort,
That numbing fulfillment—
Is this why we mindlessly eat pints of ice cream when we are sad?
For me, it is because ice cream is my one true love.
Watching a TV show when I should be working:
Is this the life of the brokenhearted?
Why do we eat ice cream, though? Why is it the choice food of comfort?
Is it because ice cream is both cold—numbingly so—and soothing?
It takes away all feeling while giving you the comfort of familiar and exotic flavours;
Fills you up with nothing, essentially—
Or at least nothing healthy—
But fills you nonetheless.
It leaves you content for the interim, before the heartbreak strikes again
And leaves you craving that ice cold comfort,
That numbing fulfillment—
Is this why we mindlessly eat pints of ice cream when we are sad?
For me, it is because ice cream is my one true love.
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