We have become sick
on the offal of innocents
listen to the incessant significant
whine that speaks volumes
we are the torturers shank
the glib slip of entrails
the despicable act
in the name of lust
someone's body hangs lifeless
who loved and eagerly lived
who heard their mother sing
who saw their mother bleed
we have let the grey void consume
it ate a gaping hole in us all
it loosened its jaw wide
devouring without prejudice
{we numbed the internal dispute
we closed off our sympathy
and found dark places within
to closet our revulsion}
we stole them away {from pastures}
we told them we owned them
‘you no longer own your limbs
you no longer own your skin!’
and when we cut into them
and they defecated with fear
and tried to flee and screamed
we still claimed they could not feel
can only we feel pain?
is it really unique to us?
are they really fooling us?
are they merely automaton?
yet the whine increased
instilled a sinking feeling
we saw the slaughter, the carnage,
and rape, we shook the stupor
and In the cold light
we felt each knife enter
felt the wrenching burn
and the desperation to live
the connective tissue healed
we gathered the proof
saw beyond the carven dead
saw the mother and her young
no longer food, no longer ours
until every stall is open
until every cage is empty
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