Mince Meat

A Poem by Porcelain

Written as a bored 14 year old. (: i likes it still.

Little girl running through,
Running through the haze.
Of a distant nightmare real,
A steamy, unknown maze.

She skipped o'er concrete,
And uneven rocky ground,
She fell into an ending gape,
Without a single sound.

She fell into a mince machine,
Its razors slicing sharp.
The angels fell from heavens floor,
Her screams; their deathly harp.

She fell and died, she fell and screamed,
She fell and slit her throat,
The blood purred out like milkshake puke,
A sacrificial goat.

The meat was minced and packaged fresh,
In plastic she was furled,
A sticker stuck upon the lid,
"ADDED LITTLE GIRL".