Cattle and sheep - pigs and fowl

Scrap paper thoughts, scribbled , indiscernible.
Like forgotten feelings, misremembered, their arrangement all wrong. 
Discord, as if a wanton heart, afraid to disclose the hopes, trapped deep within..
The fear never loses, yet, gets tired of winning.
Those lost that keep searching, can they ever be found, if nothing is looking their way?
Have they lost their voice, or have something to  say?
Is there anyone left to to hear?
If everyone is tuned in, why is there only static?
Can things become more sporadic?
I would take notes myself, but I cannot read my own shorthand.
Everything we know is second-hand contraband, headed to the slaughter.
Awaiting their purpose.