Crush my heart. Cut the blade into my face. Kill me. Take my life, and squeeze the blood from my body.
I wish I died out there. Wish that in that place, I could have lost myself in suffering. How after being this way for so long, how can we not separate. How could I have not have learned, to look into their eyes, and objectify them.
I have not been here in sometime, because in all honesty, I am not well. At night I sit in the dark by myself, and dream of ways to draw scars upon my veins. How do we continue the work we know we need to, without wanting to cut into our face.
This image, this is the reality of what goes on there. This is every second of everyday in the life of these dogs. They look dead, but they are not. The tortured. The boiled alive. Waiting for the only thing they could hope for - that the life inside leaves their heart.
People look at what we do, and feel that they can do it better. Maybe that is true. Maybe that is not. But until you stand there. Until you breathe the death in that I see. Let me do what we believe we need to do, in order to end this.