For Death There Must First Be Life

For death, obviously there must be life, right? Well, if you actually think about living, really break it down, some things die, without life.
Take, for example, a small, helpless chicken, spending it's entire "life" in a crammed cage. It's beak has been burned off, its feathers rotted off from the filth, it's eyes blinded from the ammonia, it's legs ripped carelessly off as its dragged from a cage, they as well are sometimes raped for the pleasure of the workers.
Now, tell me, do you call that life? It isn't.
So, here are some poems, a collection I call A Death in the Factory to honor those who were mistreated, abused, raped, mutilated, and killed, all for the pleasures of the human kind. Now, take a seat, an enjoy your dinner, your lunch, your breakfast, you think that is an egg, well I see it as a reason for all those deaths. The chicken being the victim, and you, the people, the murderers. You think it is just egg, please, I dare you to tell me again.