they say

that the animal

which knows its end is near

is the most dangerous.

those cornered eyes,

those which have abandoned all hope

have nothing left

and so can fight

as if they have nothing to lose.

that's why

the end of the hunt

is the most dangerous.

but the rabbit

which has been hunted too long

which has accepted its fate,

it is already gone.

those who have always been tread upon,

their minds,

slowly,

change

becoming one with their bodies

and forgetting the pain.

for those who have known none but pain

does she not become the doting mother,

she who loves with raised hand and glaring eyes?

that rabbit,

who let the wolf catch it,

it drips blood limply,

red eyes fading

to a close.

why would it fight

when the wounds

had already been inflicted within the mind,

when it had already given up?

pain dissolves in a haze of pleasure.

no one gives up without having already been broken.

there are only two kind of existences. that which will struggle again and again, against all odds, for they have nothing to lose. and that which will fall, easily, as a petals off a wilted flower, for they have lost everything.