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.
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