Hurt

They make me, fill me up until almost bursting. They pick me up. They me high on display, proud and excited. Then without warning, they strike me. They hit me hard. Those little children, I didn’t know they could be so harmful, aggressive and filled with animosity. The old ones watch gleefully, cheering on my destruction. They smack me until there is nothing left, then they eat my insides. It isn’t even always the larger, stronger ones that strike the fatal blow. Sometimes it’s a little innocent looking one with good aim and a dark heart. And guess what? They enjoy it. They don’t even think twice. They don’t care that they just slaughtered me. They are in charge, they take control. Then they kill an innocent being. I have no control over anything, but the question is did I ever have any control? Was my entire reason for being not my creation but my demise? Is this what I was made for? Was I made just to be killed to be completely torn apart? I was a work of art, but now I am garbage.What am I?