I’m trying to write about eating an orange slice that looks really yummy but is really disappointing once you actually bite it. But with metaphors.

Idk why lmho.

Can I have some feedback? I’m not liking anything and I’m not sure how to fix it. I feel like everything is too disjointed and doesn’t make sense.

Try 1:

The slice is like sunlight, warm and round, plump with juice that glows in the golden hour. It has veins of pith separating pulp like chambers of a heart. The sweet tang you imagine pulses in your hand. It glows golden orange with promise of overwhelming flavor of sour, sweet, bitter.

It tastes like water. Not water after days of dry thirst. Just water. Had in plenty and no longer craved. Boring, plain, flat. Almost tasteless. You had pierced the pulsing heart with a nail and its blood ran clear, flat and lacking the golden glow. You bent down to lick it, disappointment coating your tastebuds in underwhelm. There’s the faintest tint of bitterness, and nothing else. It’s room temperature. It’s flat, textureless, unimportant. A dream shattered, an apocalyptic sun rising past the precarious hour of breaths held under the golden sky, rising to flat clouds and clear light.

Try 2:

The slice is dusk, a glowing promise of sweetness to come, a crescent of orange descending into a black maw.

The slice is dawn, a bland disappointment, a flat sky faded and mundane after the delicate balance of a day yet unborn.

The slice pulses with the promise of overwhelming flavor. The veins of pith snake bitter paths through pulpy sweet chambers of a heart of tang.

Your nail pierces the warm heart and its blood runs flat and clear. It’s tasteless. Bland. Your tongue is not stained red.

Current Draft:

Bleary eyes blink off the residue of dreamland and wake to a world of 9 to 5s and microwaveable dinners.