Crumbling Under Pressure

In my kitchen, the pot stands rusted and bare,

its surface once shining, now heavy with wear.

I tried to create something tender and warm,

yet flakes of decay reveal all that's forlorn.

What once held my dinners now crumbles apart,

a testament broken, a mirror to heart.

Expectations unmet, beneath layers of grime,

each meal now a memory, lost to the time.