By: Amy Thomson 

Concrete bed

and wooden crate.

I rest my head,

accept my fate.

Metal smell,

the baby screams.

My flesh to sell

in crimson streams.

Mama please,

it’s taking toll.

This life’s a tease,

your milk they stole.

Grabbing me

with cruel disdain.

I cannot flee,

I’m filled with pain.

Cut my throat,

fur caked with mud.

Your dollar vote

stained with my blood.

You insist,

can’t give up meat.

A life I missed,

Bon Appetit.


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