I am served upon a silver platter,
a selection of meats, finely sliced.
I am cut for your pleasure,
sirloin, ribeye, chuck.
Am I tender enough?
Nothing more than meat to you,
a little raw but marinated just right.
Be wary, I carry an incurable disease;
the first symptom is freedom from inhibitions.
Misuse isn't the right word
but it's the first that comes to mind.
I am nothing more than meat to you,
but you are just the same to me.
You're going to need a very sharp knife.
Author notes
yeah, fuck writers block
I dont care what you think.
Comments
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Mmm. Yummy.
I like this.
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This sets up many different settings and gives out many different messages.
♥
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