victims of beauty

i remember
a cage, no, fresh tracks on the sand
my blood, not my blood, game
fresh tracks
fresh snow
i remember how i was left there hanging without skin
no, how i ran faster than the rabbit
i was left there, a twitching chunk of meat
no fur just teeth and pain and fury
fresh blood, old blood, old memories
i remember a cage, no, open skies
not my memories, yet my memories
my mother's my brother's
and mine





***

maybe they have collective memory. they definitely know what awaits them, where the fox from the next cage disappeared to, but they probably don't understand why. and don't give me that talk about how they cannot grasp the concept of freedom because they've been born and bred in cages. it is we who cant and never will understand their concepts



***
and all the pretty ladies wear corpses around their necks