Proteins Denatured

Watching proteins denature
Brings on a strange feeling
Of guilt and necessity.
That which was once clear
Is no longer,
What once was fluid
No longer flows.
Sometimes the static fills my head
In the late hours of the night
The words are illuminated
And are almost aflame
And the proteins denatured
Are the fuel to my fire
And my latent, deep-seated ire
Barricades me from sleep.
The stolen lives
That fuel my own:
Have chickens ever been greater than man?
And has one man ever been
Better than another?
What lends to this caste system-
Arbitration or skill?
Some combination thereof
Makes the differentiation
Between the heroes and the fools.
A formula of so many variables;
It’s impossible to tell.
But the denaturation of proteins
Is merely the application of heat:
The slow frying of eggs
Late at night.