Poem Chocolate Novels & Stories

Blake said before returning to his home. “Oh____my____this____is ____delisious. What do they call this again?” Chai Xuanlu asked. “I believe they call it Cho_co_late? Sister Song stated, unsure. “It’s pronounced chocolate, and it’s part of all women in the world’s diet,” Blake said with a smile when he walked into the dining room, seeing Sister Song and Xuanlu sitting and eating a chocolate cake. “Ahh, you’re back, you meanie.” Sister Song proclaimed at Blake with a cute pout.

A small card rested on top. For my sweet girl. -M I bit my lip as tears pricked my eyes because Mateo had left me chocolate and called me his sweet girl. The same man who'd paddled my ass until I sobbed, who'd fucked my throat until I gagged, had bought me expensive chocolate and called me sweet. I ate one piece and it melted on my tongue, rich and perfect. I closed my eyes and imagined him picking these out, thinking of me, wanting to give me something that would make me smile.

I found some cookies, bread, fruit… “I’m in paradise…” until I saw it, up high, as if it were placed there so no one could reach it. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” It was a DeLaFee. A chocolate that makes me want to eat it just by the name alone, and the price of it makes my mouth water. Five hundred dollars… I know I’m a twenty-one-year-old adult, but inside me lives a child who loves chocolate and only gets to eat it at Christmas. I climbed onto the counter, “treed” up the shelf, and reached the five-hundred-dollar bastard.

Everytime I have a lot of time, I always go to the coffee shop as I can smell the aroma of different flavors of coffee, especially the chocolate cake, and it motivates me to write more. *** “One chocolate coffee, please,” I said on the girl, she nodded and I looked around to find a table. I went on the last table that I saw and pulled my laptop from my bag and plugged my earphone in to listen to music. I smiled on the girl who gave my order. A sweet smile suddenly appeared on my lips when I smell the chocolate coffee. *** I can’t avoid myself from smiling while I’m reading my readers’ comments from my poem earlier, even though I just published it earlier, a lot of people have read and apprec

I took her by the arm again, hoping to head off another outburst, wondering why the chocolate hadn't done the trick when she turned to me, face blank and serious. "Darkness comes," she said softly, wetly around the chocolate in her mouth. "Yeah, Gram, sometime today." She turned to me and pressed her index finger into my chest. I looked at the smear of chocolate. There was no way I was getting the stain out of my pale blue jersey. "Nice, Gram," I said. "No light has it seen," she continued as if I hadn't spoken, "none will it see, for it chooses the dark." I stopped tugging.

Illegal-in-some-countries chocolate, with a forbidden taste of ecstasy. The chef kissed my irresistible flavours. The guard hesitated, jaw clenched from parting in defeat. I saw it. That small flicker of weakness in his expression. It was just a matter of time before he gave in now. “Triple-layer cake,” I said casually, pushing further through his walls. “Belgian cocoa with no fondant…. because I do have standards.” Another silence hung loosely in the air. I sighed, already thinking of bringing out the strawberry flavour back there, when suddenly, Mr Frowning spoke with surprise: “You didn’t say it was chocolate. Mrs Julliard loves those.”

There’s just… stuff. A ridiculous amount of it. Presents, flowers, cards, snacks—an entire mountain of pink-wrapped chaos stacked neatly beside me like I’m some kind of fallen soldier being honored. I blink at it, torn between confusion and disbelief, before sighing and hauling myself up to get a closer look. Grabbing the nearest bar of chocolate, I tear it open, breaking off a piece and tossing it into my mouth. The sugar immediately helps chase away the lingering taste of death, and I let out a satisfied hum as I chew.

On the night of their fourth wedding anniversary, Raymond Whitmore stood on a Boston stage and unveiled a perfume called Eternal Claire, dedicating it to the woman he swore he would love until his last breath. The world called it the most romantic gesture of the year. Claire called it a cage with a golden lid. Because thirty minutes later, a stranger sent her a video of that same perfume being poured over another woman's naked chest, in a suite two floors below the ballroom, by her husband's very hands. For four years, Claire had traded her PhD, her name, and her silence for a marriage the tabloids envied. In return, she got a mother-in-law who called her barren, a husband who called h

I chuckled lightly closing my journal, I had been trying to write a poem but considering my mind had remained nothing but a blank canvas I decided to give up. At that time I had been experiencing a writer's block that had been killing me and though I used to experience episodes like that before, the inability to create had been going on for weeks. She chuckled lightly coming to stand beside me, allowing my nose to take a whiff of the sweet smell of chocolate. Upon natural instinct my stomach immediately grumbled lightly reminding me of the hunger I had been ignoring for some time. "You may have a point," she replied pointing discreetly towards a child munching on a cupcake with clear gusto.

The silence it represented felt like the only thing I controlled. Back in my apartment, the stillness was a physical presence. I toasted a slice of bread, forced down a few bites, the food tasting like ash. The act felt ridiculous, nourishing a body that housed a completely shattered spirit. But I did it anyways. The thought of Eleanor’s offer enveloped me,how she spoken, how she looked at me…I didn’t deserve any of this from both Austin and his mother,I thought of her last statement, “He would come begging.” Then, the itch started.