Fried Chicken Poetry

in poetry •  7 years ago 

His throat was slit, Cock-a-doodle-doo he said,
Then fluttered his wings, so he tried and fled.

Then showed up on my plate dressed up all in red,
Famished me, i longed to eat the dead.

With knife and fork and thoughts in my head,
My flesh and bones mate, will be made from your life instead.

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