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Arisa Mar 2019
Late night Macca-run,
Busted up hand-me-down car
Rattling along the rocky road
With his warm hoodie draped around me
Like a toga with a Supreme sticker.

AC's turned off in traffic
As the night breeze is all we need
To enjoy this comfortable night
In his car, together.

I order a hot chocolate.
He orders a cheeseburger.
And we share the fries,
And I drain his pepsi
Until all there is
Is a pile of melted ice
And the soft pallet of knock-off cola
- in which both of us refuse to drink the leftover contents.

The cup is still warm in my hands,
And the car smells of fried food and cocoa powder.
His eyes are focused on the road,
While mine are focused elsewhere.

Soon,
He drops me home,
and ditches the trash.
And that was the end of our quiet late-night dinner-date.
Macca's = McDonalds
Julie Langlais Feb 2016
I contemplate
I buy it on aromatic instinct
The fight emerges
Don't eat it!
You're not even hungry!
I sit in my head
While the words debate
The palate ultimately wins
My hands follow orders
The sweet melting chew
Savory icing
Made for my mouth
I close my eyes
Taste buds dance
Pure enjoyment
A moment has escaped me
In my candy land
Until it's gone
A guilty pleasure
Plagued stomach
Churning to
Disappointed intestines
An alien
They don't quite understand
As it has no nutrients or vitamins to absorb
Sending the lipids and sugars
Away to live as fat
Surrounding areas I dislike most
I look in the mirror
And I imagine where that regretful donut went.

© Jl 2016
The donut here is a representation of fast food in general.
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!

I've got a Dr. Pepper n' box o' fries,
A favorite friend sittin' with me 'by-my-side'...

I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!

Did you hear about the hot new grilled dog?
It's somethin,' that, I'll be eating at the mall!

Like poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!

Next time you feel you really need a bite,
Go ahead get a Burger King in your sight!

And pop one up a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
Like poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
I'm poppin' on a wing-ding, Whopper; Burger King!
Ideograms are words that have a different implied meaning as a symbol. Wing Dings are ideograms. Moving your arm up in that way you do when you eat implies a symbolic gesture therefore your, "wing-ding," is how you eat your food. The first ideograms were from Sumeria. This is all metered rhyme. Metered rhyme is very popular in American advertising.
Hannah Jun 2015
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
Filled up with 150 different flavours of ice cream, 100% fat, 100% diabetes. Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
All night drive-thrus, the Golden Arches of heart disease.
Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
Super sized, double order of fries, any kind, anytime.
Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
Gobbling up commercials selling the same **** a million different ways.
Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
absorbing political excrement like a big fat chocolate candy bar.
Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake,
Gobbling up fear and propaganda, I slurp up lies, and wash it all down with a big ******* to a blatant reality staring me square in the face. I assume ignorance and deny responsibility. Give me more.
I am the swollen belly of a snake, bursting, spewing ***** over cities, because we knew deep down  it couldn't last.
They filled me up so full I vomited violently until there was nothing left.
I am the empty belly of a snake and I am hungry.
RH 78 May 2015
There was a ping pop and fizzle, I heard my new born grizzle, like fine rain it started to lightly drizzle.
There was a fizzle pop and ping, the force upset my ring due to the sting.
It took on a life if it's own and the poem went out the window.
It crawled out my ****** like a possessed rabid zombie, the worm had turned and gave a wink as it continued to slink out of my hole.
I swallowed the air which had thickened as a result of the gas creeping out the pores of the beasts own ***.
This thing was a body in my body but nobody knew not even me!
I fell to my knees face to face with my creation not born from my mother but sort of like my brother.
Good grief! I had eaten a KFC bargain bucket the night before, I smiled and it smiled a gob full of corn on the cob teeth.
Michael Falls Mar 2015
The world will end in fire or storm,
If given the choice I'd choose the storm.
Go out with a bang is what they say,
Better to drown than to burn.
Yet I can't help but wonder,
Isn't the storm almost the same as fire?
Electricity coursing through your veins,
You fry from the inside.
In the end you'll either be deep-fried or crispy and burnt.
Maybe one'll be wetter than the other,
But in the end, we'll all be dead.

— The End —