“what are you?” the people asked.
“I am me” I answered simply.
“but what do you like?” they continued to pry.
“what does it matter?” I openly asked.
“what do you do then?” the crowd implored.
“whatever I like” I replied as I left.
If your inside were out, would I have fallen all the same? Would I have eagerly tried to own you the way I did? Had I known what lay beneath that overbearing facade, that beguiling disguise, would I still have snapped you up when I finally found the chance? I Don’t like to think that a book should be judged by it’s cover, nor do I like to believe that external perfection precludes the presence of internal perfection but in you I was sold from the start, the second i looked at your divine countenance I was certain you would be mine.
But, as with all things, it was not to last. The changes you went through were drastic it’s true, but the way you changed so brazenly, so hotly at first was a thrill as I watched you rise and colour until eventually after endless, countless time had passed you gave yourself and I knew from the first taste that it was wrong, that I had nothing to look forward to but disappointment and regret but still I went on; I went on until I could take no more and now all i can do is gaze on those sad, grey remnants that were all I left and wonder to myself if your inside were out would I have fallen all the same?
This, dear readers, is why I don’t usually buy supermarket pizza.