the six legged bird, walked clumsily, flapping it's dozen wings in joy. it was feeding time, and no orgsnism could ever feel such pleasure and joy at the sight of the brown pellets, that were mostly made of recycled cardboard. it was so rapturous, because it was designed to get that way. make the thing eat more. legaly speaking the chicken was allowed to be marketed as such. it still had a beak, it was still dumb as a chicken, it even managed a cluck once in a while. but it laid no eggs, and had no feathers. it had a massive breast, and a large liver.
this chicken was not long for this world, though it had tough resistance to all desease. but of course its doom would come at a plant, hoisted on a hook.
but my question to you, my friend, is this: who is really the doomed one, the chicken as a collective of resiliant birds, or Us, who resort to creating such a mess, to be put in a paper bucket. who are really the lost ones?
All you wanna do is run
Plucking at the weak but never the strong
I shouldn’t have had expectations
Run along you little runt
It’s getting harder to feed you
Fixing you food is a pain nowadays
All that squawking and constant chatter
Let me help you with it
A sweet aroma of bubbling joy
all down the hatch