Domesticated Animals

As I wander through this verdant vale, the zoo's secrets unfold like a tapestry of forgotten tales. The lion's languid pose is a sonnet of laziness, a fetish of the familiar, where comfort's gentle chains bind us to the status quo. His mane, a fiery halo, screams of burning desires, but the flames that fuel them have dwindled to embers, extinguished by the frothy waters of indulgence. Nearby, the tigress stalks, a stalker of shadows, her stripes a whispered warning of the power that lies in restraint. Her eyes, bright lanterns in the darkness, light the path of resistance, guiding us through the labyrinth of compromise. She is the velvet glove of violence, soft-spoken yet unyielding, a reminder that even in the most tranquil of landscapes, a storm brews, waiting to unleash its fury upon the complacent. The crocodile, a creature of stealth, lurks in wait, a patient predator, its jaws a merciless metaphor for the ways we devour ourselves, trapped in a cycle of consumption and decay. Its scaly hide is the hardened shell of our own vulnerabilities, protecting us from the very forces that drive us to chaos. We are the predators, and the prey, locked in a deadly dance, each step a minefield of destruction, each breath a hushed warning of the wormhole that yawns beneath our feet. And in the shark tank, the elites glide, their armored bodies a bulwark against the tides of change, their fins a waltz of domination, orchestrated by the gears of power. They are the smash-and-grab merchants of opportunity, snatching what little treasure lies within reach, leaving the rest to rot in the shallow end. The water, a mirror of their own reflection, distorts our sense of self, warping our perceptions of the abyss that stares back at us, a funhouse mirror of our own making and we adore it.