Yesterday's bread, tough as leather
Pressed and scorched in the broken toaster
A trip to hell, just a little bit quicker
As the molds are killed to make it taste better
At the cost of turning brittle and bitter.

Open the lid so greasy and loose
Of the peanut butter jar too old and reduced
Hiding in the shelf, alone and overused
Screaming for jelly but doesn't come in two's
About two-thirds empty and a complete recluse.

Pull the drawer and grab the butter knife
Pointless and jagged, it gave up on life
Poke the insides and dig with a gripe
Spread the loot so scarcely in stripes
Place the other half in one crooked swipe.