Betrayal

Betrayal.
It still tastes
like peanut butter
on white bread.
Smeared on
apple butter
and raisins.
It still tastes
like rice cakes
between sewer grates.
Color sprinkles too.
Lots of those.
Color sprinkles raining
like all of heaven
just exploded.
There is nowhere
for the good boys and girls
to go be dead anymore.
But there are plenty of sprinkles
everywhere.
It always tastes
new
and the same;
Fresh and stale;
Betrayal.

Open wide and say
“Yum, this tastes pretty frickin’ dumb.”