Oh how futile it is for words to be spilt like blood but for none to take it in.

Like a game caught and killed but not eaten by anyone.

Left to be wasted, to rot, to mold, and to die.

While other's thrive in the bellies of those who enjoy the taste, who refuse to consume anything but their favorite game.

While they think they're in the right, they leave many killed left to rot instead of at least serving the purpose of making others satisfied.

(Ughhhh it's like 7:45am in Tennessee and I'm sooo hungry, sorry if my hunger made my poem bad)

(Plus the poem made me even more hungry😭)