Destination place

That hole in your face

That chows down
Devours mounds
By the pound
Of dead, suffered slaves
Now ground round
Now Grinding gristle
only sound
Teeth on meat
Your dollar spent
Morals went
Down a dead end
Can’t mend
You won’t bend…
You defend
Bits & pieces
That must be cooked
before rottenness & gases
Call an army of maggots to dine.