The story that I am about to tell
Is one of great sorrow.
I recently made a terrible mistake,
And now I fear, toast is my foe.
I awoke and rose from my bed,
My stomach ready for food.
To the kitchen I went, licking my lips;
I was in a hungry mood.
Bread in the toaster,
Knife on the plate.
Oh hurry up will you!
I don't like to wait.
I snatch the toast as it pops,
My stomach yells, "Feed Me!"
I open the cupboard excitedly,
But what's this? What do I see?
Of Nutella® my cupboard is bare,
From my face fades my grin.
And it was then, at that moment,
That I committed a dreadful sin.
At the back of the cupboard it lurked,
That evil temptress spread.
I succumbed to its charms and took it down.
What am I, brain-dead?
As I twist open the lid I know this is wrong,
Yet my hunger won't let me stop.
In goes my knife, twists around,
And pulls out the pale brown slop.
"That's not Nutella®!" screams my mind.
"That's not Nutella®!" echoes the toast.
It is this next part in particular,
That pains me the most.
Ignoring its pleas I smother the toast,
Muffling its plaintive cries.
It is a good job, I reflect now,
That toast does not have eyes.
When the spreading is done, I lift a slice,
The shrieks tugging at my heart.
Yet I cannot stop now, as my stomach intends
To finish what it did start.
I put the toast out of its misery,
And take an enormous bite.
The toast goes on to the Big Loaf in the sky,
For me there is no divine light.
R.I.P. Toast. You were a much loved slice, and did not deserve to die by cheap value chocolate spread. Please forgive me, and don't punish me with burnt toast too much.
Especially for @naaviie
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