The ice is finally thawing. Take notice to a decaying smell.
Paws and mandibles, to our surprise, come blooming out.
Muzzles and secretions intertwined,
With wrappers and garbage.
Fifty dead dogs strewn about.
You had the power of steel. You had the power of weight.
To build a pit, to use fear as bait.
Human infliction and the four stages of cruelty.
They’re my machines with no souls.
I can hear them whimpering over the sneering laughter.
The collar placed around my throat,
A dominant leather reminder.
Gutted. Classified as property.
I must obey, or I will be broken.
Frozen. No justice. Cryptic. No salvation.
The ghosts will find you by other means.
One day soon, you’ll be thrown in a pit.
Deemed destroyed. Just for the rush of it.