Popcorn Piping Pleasantly
Popcorn Piping Pleasantly life stories
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stadarooni
stadarooniEmpathy is the human superpower.
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
Stories are fake, you say? Wait, that is a red herring. Wrong food.

Popcorn Piping Pleasantly

Spinning the clock ‘round,

crashing like a play!

Composed by the past,

they were served for the day.

Seasoned savours in May,

found crowned in butter drowned.

He was ‘microwave-grown’,

rippled out of his batch

not taken for slaughter.

Hunters tore through the hatch:

his friends were the big snatch;

he whimpered on his own.

A stream of golden goo

could talk as he walked.

It garbled gibberish,

riddles that zapped him shocked,

bad dreams that left him stalked.

But he could chew right through.

A cliché.

“Oh why, oh why, oh why,

butter will jilt us dead.”

It brought the hunter taste:

they taste finer than bread

eaten on the beachhead.

He exists just to die?

He went out on a spiel,

he popped into a spur;

determination ticked.

A joust he would prefer,

he could not let it stir:

butter would meet its steel.

He needed all the help

to whoosh away his doubt

so butter would bustle;

its lake would be a drought

and their lives could breakout.

New friends answered his yelp.

Peers avenged in a scene:

They would die no more!

He pummelled with a swoosh;

butter would not pore,

their lives were what he swore

from the popping machines.

A cliché.

The background zoomed to white

because it was a dream!

It screamed displeasure:

“Happy hero to gleam!”

The story was mainstream,

the big bite was a blight.

Scoop-dragged into a bag,

butter-blended to end!

Pleasantly popping pros,

they were the hunter’s trend,

the ‘whoosh’ of the weekend!

Sadly,

Sadly, no cycle to transcend.

A downer ending:

A downer ending: A cliché!

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