A (Poetic) Ode to the Chipotle Burrito

Pixar gave a voice to the inner life of toys. After working at the studio for six months now, I find myself thinking a whole lot more about what may be going on in the hypothetical brain place of everyday inanimate things and stuff.

So what’s going in the brain place of a Chipotle burrito?

The Last Bite of a Chipotle Burrito Has an Existential Crisis: A Poem

I.                                                                                                                                         I have made it to the end.                                                                                             How pleasing!                                                                                                                          A remaining tortilla scrap                                                                                                  Is my pillow.

A noise from above.                                                                                                            This is it. El fin.                                                                                                                    Into darkness, I shall pass.                                                                                              Holy hope of happiness reigns.

II.                                                                                                                                  Frick. Still here.                                                                                                                 This last piece of cheese clings to my side                                                                    like a synthetic hormone.

Cold air creeps,                                                                                                                      As it digs silently                                                                                                                  Into my ever-weakening back.

Despair.

III.                                                                                                                            Where do I come from?                                                                                              Organic, local produce?

Bullshit.

Am I being driven?                                                                                                              Or am I driving?                                                                                                              Think too much, life goes by.

I feel the bottom will be forever                                                                              pregnant with silence.

IV.                                                                                                                                        Wait! Movement, from above.                                                                                      Dark, dark is taking over.                                                                                               Muted Mmmms fill my body.

This is it. El fin.                                                                                                                      Into darkness, I pass.                                                                                                   Buenos noches, my amigos.                                                                                               Or should I say, Buenos días?

Is this the end
Or the beginning?

Gulp.

V.                                                                                                                                        ?!!!

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