2007 January:

My sister’s breasts dragged across bloody cement, like some horrific transfigured mother nature
I would go to sleep for months to the music of madness, of screams, and the stench of disease
I’m packed in tight like a product, too tight to breathe
And I haven’t moved my whole life
I dream of what sunshine must be
My hands are molded to the bars of my cage, and I pray each day they’ll choose me
I don’t know who I’m praying to
I didn’t think God supported genocide, but then again, don’t you?


(dedicated to the 45 billion animals that die each year around the globe so people can have the petty pleasure of tasting a little mouthful of flesh)