lover not figher

She was the night.

A blanket of darkness,
hiding the lost,
        the hopeless,
            the forgotten.

A weapon to be wielded,
honed by the angered,
                   the desperate,
                      the abandoned.

A home to come back to,
loved by the fighters,
                the frightened,
                          the faithful.

She was the night,
an all encompassing void,
holding all that asked.
(but the night is always broken by dawn)

—  what happens when the sun brings the night to an end? // e.q.
7

Someone tell me: do these dogs look like they are enjoying what they are being put through? Do you think they want to be put into rings so they have to fight for their lives? And, what if they live? Even win? They end up scarred, and injured. And, then thrown out like garbage when their injuries mean they can’t fight anymore. Someone tell me why people continue to blame the breed, instead of blaming the people who have corrupted the breed.