Terrible.
Utterley terrible.
Baking in the blasting heat
just for somebody to eat.
Being tapped on my bottom
to check it is cooked.
They could tell if it was soggy
if they ever looked
Maybe it is my fruit
perhaps it lies funny
perhaps it is the temperature
maybe I've become runny.
I've sat in the pantry
for a day longer than I should
I'd love to run away and hide
if only I could.
I want to break free
and become a ****
smother myself with jam
what a riot I would start.
No more a cake, more of what I want to be
and a noise is what I want to make
but instead I sit here unnoticed
I am a stale uneaten cake.