Fries.
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Sometimes I dry,
Sometimes I fry,
Sometimes i try,
However I dont get the feeling it’d stick.
Of course its gonna be a mick. (is that even a word?)
It all turns to Ash.
And it also goes to Mash.
In they lay up Above.
It stays quiet like a glove.
Wind so hard Its like a Cage
Making sure it Engages
In its Bed
It is Dead
Never to be seen
Its like a scene.this poem went from fries to monster real quick
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@siloxa922 I’m hiding my damn burgerfries from you.
