Ron's Brain

As my hunger creeps
silently, angrily,
I wait for the right moment.
CHOMP!
The fruit pie is breached.

The slow filling oozes out,
like blood from an open wound,
except not as disgusting
nor unhygenic.
Alas, it will soon be consumed.

Are we not all like thee, fruit pie?
Waiting in our pre-packaged world,
until the fangs of death clamp down.
Do we not taste like artificial
and natural fruit flavoring?

The glazed exterior seduces us all.
Why, O why do you taunt humanity?
You have outlived us, out-processed us,
and out-sit-on-a-store-shelfed us.
Please forgive me.

Your sacrifice is noble.
Through your death comes my life
and my fat ass.
I may speak poorly of you at times,
but you are always my fruit pie.