My insides are filled with soft little pebbles that squish between your fingers. When you touch me I give and mold to you, to give you support.
I look tasty. I smell tasty. The lingering sweet toasted scent of artificial genius.
But you cannot taste me. You place me and arrange me with the others, but they are not like me. My colors make you drool, I have been painted to look delicious from all angles.
Covered in sugary heaven and dipped in sugary angels, I make you hungry just looking at me.
But do-not eat too many of what I am representing. Too many of my golden crusted ring sisters will make you sick.
Not like you could go outside and get one. You will have to make me yourself. With flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, vanilla, butter, milk, and eggs. Are you ready to do that? No. Well then you can keep on thinking about me. I know I will stay on your mind for a little longer, maybe for a long-long time you will think about the greasy, sweet, goodness that I represent.
Think about how each mini cylinder of sweetness that's nestled in my sugary goo calls out to you. My fluffy, and light as airy base, holds my essence and when you choose to devour me becomes my spirit.
*Basically, I miss Kingpin Donuts on Durant. They make em fresh around midnight and damn that's a good donut.