Ode to dry pasta

Dry pasta, I'm sorry
I took your head off, then dropped you on the floor.
I put the tip of my converse to your chest
And crushed you.

Why I would do such a thing I'll never know.
Maybe I was mad
At your high carbohydrate percentage.

You started life as a lowly wheat seed,
and you tried your best,
and was all ready for the big day,
when you would be cooked and eaten.

It was your moment in the sun.
You fell onto the counter top
Everyone got to experience death as one
Except for you.

Huge, stubby fingers picked you up
And crushed your head.
You were then rejected
And thrown to the floor
Every part of you crushed

Not even the dog would eat you.

I'm sorry.