Born into a cage to die.
And your first memories are being crowded together with your family.
All you know is that the incessant, florescent lights.
They burn your tiny, sensitive eyes.
And upon reaching size, you're lifted by cold hands
To a new world of pain and fear.
And in the light the needle stabs in like being cut with a knife.
And you scream and you pull against your abusers hands, but there is no doing.
And the pain feels like it will surely kill you as your family dies.
What would you want someone to do for you; if this was the living [bad word] you were forced to endure
with no way out?
Your blood stains on this metal cage and you try to catch your breath.
But the injection seems like a lethal one and you're suffocating to death.
But as your vision blurs you see the others peering at you through their bars.
You can smell the fear that permeates the air,
You pray for this nightmare to be over.
But as your body writhes you lay curled with clenched eyes wishing for the end.
But these horrors persist with nowhere [bad word]  they don't call it torture it's vivisection.
What would you want someone to do for you; if this was the living [bad word] you were forced to endure with no way out?
Would you care about a movement, would you care about public opinion, would you care about anything? Or would you only focus on your liberation by any means?
And what would you want someone to do for you if this was the living [bad word] you were forced to endure with no way out?