Tuesday, 6 November 2018

Inside The Slaughterhouse

A poem from 2018

The walls rich red, splattered by the blood of the slain
Victims playing dead, hoping for the slaughter to stop
Customers stand in line, fantasising they're not the first to hold the blade to the throat, to hear the meat screaming
Inspectors pass by, turning a blind eye, hoping for a free lunch

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