Dear Breeder,
Tomorrow, I want to show you just how many of us there already are.
Tomorrow, I want to show you how much worse you make things for my kind.
Tomorrow, I want to show you the damage you continue to make done.
Tomorrow, I want to show you just how many of us continue to suffer.
Tomorrow, I want to walk up to you and ask you "What do you know about my kind anyways?"
Tomorrow, I want to walk up to you, force open your eyes and make you see what the world really is that surrounds you.
Tomorrow, I want to ask you if you really think you're doing my kind any favors.
How do you know what is best for us?
...And what is a "breed" anyways?
You say you love us and that you want to help make us better, while my brothers and sisters now have arthritis.
You know what types of disease we'll get just by looking at us.
...And our lives are now far shorter.
Tomorrow I want to say all of these things to you, Breeder.
But I can't,
Because I am already next in line, lying on the table,
...And I die today.
- A Throwaway
