Pity The Predators

Thoughts as blunt as cheetah claws,

Words as sharp as their cleat-like paws;

He preys on the weak, with mach-speed speech

And purrs sweet nothings as they bleed.

But the cheetah is not a king.

Just one more cog in our machine;

Where he's forced to feed on others,

Coerced to smother, lest he suffer

The metallic grip on his scruff;

To be snuffed and laid out as a rug.