The Final Bite

It’s hard to impress me with chicken.
Each bite, sweet and crunchy,
Glistening crispness covering the outer layer,
Sweet honey mustard glazed across,
Breathtaking scents hovering around.

Steam rises up slowly.
Spices curl around my nostrils.
The first real bite crackles.
A soft and juicy center is revealed.
And yet… something feels different.

A small hint of cayenne rubs against my lips.
Pairing with the delicious sauces,
Tingling and teasing my tongue.
Beneath each bite, something lingers.
A new warmth of flavor.

The glistening golden skin disguises the truth.
Hidden within the seasoning.
My chewing slows. The room falls silent.
I rest my fork on my twitching fingers.
Could it just be the spices… or maybe something else?

My eyes begin to blur as the poison strikes.
Visions of the chicken fly through my mind.
The world drifts far away.
Each bite sends me further,
Beneath the glaze, beneath the honey,
With each glorious bite.

The heat claws at my throat.
My veins burst as my lungs collapse.
Everything becomes blurry.
My chair beneath seems to be drifting away.
My whole body goes numb.

My heart is pounding faster.
Everything fades.
I can’t talk.
I can’t scream.
I can’t move.

I produce tears that refuse to fall.
It wasn’t just spice.
It was my demise.
It was my final bite.