It all was about my fill..

I can’t say I loved those eggs

I can’t say there was anything sweet about them

I can’t lie to you there even was a drop of oil in there let alone a single onion

But I’ve gotta tell you

That, Doe, it never was about my tongue

Or about the pungency I’d create after that

Amidst all these..what mattered most

Was that I needed me a good stretch of the stomach

It All Was About My Fill

And it mattered not how much the rest loathed them

I hated hunger, I will displeased by anger

I still am.

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7 thoughts on “It all was about my fill..

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