Sorry I'm Not Sorry

Sorry I’m Not Sorry

Grumble, grumble, the process starts.
Did Pavlov ring? Or do I smell tarts?
Hungry, hungry I need a bite,
A morsel will do, with twelve more alike.

Poor food we treat you well at first,
With love and spice till your flavor just bursts.
Bright and steaming we’ll dress you up
On plates so pretty. Then downed. Gulp.

And so there ends these niceties,
You’ve been sent to the worst societies.
Like HCL whose honor bound
To do nothing less than break you down.

After that you’re not quite through,
The intestines then take your O and H₂.
Now you’re barren; dry as dirt,
Emergency! Alarm! Def con five, Alert!

You’ll pay me back with exercise,
When I sprint to the bathroom with watered eyes.
By a sounding horn I’ll force your leave,
Thereby ending my hunger’s reprieve.

Grumble, grumble the process starts.
Who is Pavlov? I want those tarts!