Dear Molten Hot Wing flavored Ruffles (Longer Version)

You tease me with your lies that touch my tongue.
Bring me to realize the deceit that hung.
Lingered in my mind from the moment I dined.
You may taste like hot wings, but who are you inside?

Never a live chicken that roamed this land.
Made of many ingredients I do not understand.

The preserved spices keep my taste buds in tune,
But how can my stomach recognize this foreign food?
There can’t be anything natural about what you bring to me,
Like a drug, you have changed my neurochemistry.

I often contemplate whether your kind, fits the family mold.

I will say this, even barbeque smoke house, failed to shake my soul.
So why am I thinking in this way?
And why shouldn’t I defy Frito lays?
Realizing somewhere along revolution, I too became a product to lend.
Where the real, and the manipulation of taste, became an equal trend.
So then what are you? Who am I? And why must I give into this two-faced industry?
You make me question the essence of who I am; you make me question my humanity.

Yet I indulge in the crunching ritual I seek.
Licking my fingers... How did that get on my cheek?

A deflecting sight some might say,

I am a human hypocrite with you today.
Because even if you were able to communicate,
Your words would be silenced, with your ultimate fate.

Well could I really be angered, when I know where you've been?
Made in masses, and categorized with no say; when you have yet to sin?

Packaged like clones and shipped where money is shown,
You stood strong with your comrades, but even they felt alone.
When you’re taught, "Better death by mouth, than forgotten by shelf."
I could only wish you had the opportunities to discover your sense of self.

So Molten Hot Wings Ruffles, the delicious, hot, and red,
you will no longer drive me mad, but have my sympathy instead.

Dear Molten Hot Wing flavored Ruffles

You tease me with your lies that touch my tongue.
Bring me to realise the deciet that hung.
Lingered in my mind from the moment i dined.
You may taste like hot wings, but who are you inside?

Never a live chicken that roamed this land.
Made of many ingredients I do not understand.
What are you!? Who am I? and ohh what is anything really?
You make me question my mind, now far from sanity.

Yet i indulge in the crunching ritual I seek.
Licking my fingers... How did that get on my cheek?

Well could I really be angered, when I know where you've been?
Made in masses, and categorized with no say; when you have yet to sin?
When your taught, "Better death by mouth, than forgotten by shelf."
I could only wish you had the opprotunities to discover your sense of self.

So Molten Hot Wings Ruffles, the delicious, hot, and red,
you will no longer drive me mad, but have my sympathy instead.