Making us gallop beyong our ability

They call it racing
But it’s making us run
Faster than we want to
Under a hot sun
Some twerp on our back
Whipping us hard
Making us jump over fences
And scarred, at the very least
Broken and made
To fall and be left
Forget the poor beast
They carry on racing
Leave us to die
We do not matter
The trainers deny
Our very existence
Death pounds on our door
Notify the insurers
We have shattered our core.