fauxcroft

Bones crunch

Flesh is torn,

Screams ring out

But nobody cares,

Behind the walls of death

Nobody is aware,

Neatly packaged

The joints are sold,

Packed mince

People buy it knowing,

Now isn’t that cold,

Born to be slaughtered

Raised as food,

I hope it fucking choked you

And you don’t feel so good,

Then maybe you’ll think again

And decide to give up meat,

Because meat means murder

And it’s the food for the weak.

Image courtesy of pinterest