On cooking a live octopus

Cretinous creeps
Ugly indeed
They have no souls
It’s doubtful they bleed
Consciousness little
Hardness of heart
Impassive just evil
Nothing to impart

Turn up the heat
Condiments spray
This is a human
You might hear him say
A scourge on humanity
Evil as sin
If I had my way
He’d be locked in some tin

A chef
Full on ego
On the hot plate we see
A life form
It’s screams
Diabolically
Can the chef hear her
No bloody chance
These idiot humans
Not a second glance