A Lamb Trying to Escape the Fence of Love

While going through some old notes, I came across something I wrote a while back—a raw, emotional piece that reads almost like song lyrics. I can no longer remember exactly what triggered it—perhaps I could if I tried, but I'd rather let it go. I do remember that writing it brought me a great sense of relief. I'm publishing it here as an archive.

I'm polite to everyone I meet,
So polite it almost suffocates me.
Hidden on the toilet seat,
I start choosing words and writing poetry.

It's not my fault, not my fault,
Not my fault — my fault, my fault, my fault.

Living for something I can't even name,
Holding on to feelings I can't explain,
Carrying a weight I didn't claim.

Everyone falls asleep,
Snoring through the night,
And finally, finally,
I start to cry out of sight.

WeChat, phone calls, Weibo, mail,
We see each other less,
Our conversations move faster and pale.

So fast that all that's left behind
Is the rust of cold blades,
And the shameless tricks of rogues.

They say love is a sacred creed,
That giving comes from a heart sincere.
But all I feel is sorrow,
A burden, a wound, a tear.

What is love? What is love?
Why are we here? Why do we exist?

They say it's for love, for love.

For love,
we have no choice but to devour one person
To keep the entire bloodline alive.

Then forget it, forget it.
Let it be, let it be.

All I dare to do
Is pour my anger into words,
A harmless little release
Where no one sees.

I'm polite to everyone I meet,
So polite that I pull up my pants,
Put on a cold face,
And numb myself with work.

Pretend everything is fine,
And survive another round
In this endless game.

You are all polite to me too,
Facing your tools with smiles so true.

A tool-person feels nothing,
Just an indispensable iron cavalry.

You can do it! You're the best!
Your flesh is what we need!

We have no choice,
We are drowning in despair.

Our stomachs are empty,
Our ribs are broken and bare.

Won't you please become
The backbone we can share?

If you were a cow,
Wouldn't that be grand?

The finest milk machine
Across the grassland.

Dragged to the market,
Sold for a handsome price,
We could finally eat our fill and smile again.

But sadly, sadly,
You are the dumbest lamb alive.

The lush green pasture
Is too far away to find.

The wind and sand
Have blinded our eyes.

Can we take turns
Riding on your back?

Carry us across
This river of suffering and decline.

You are so strong,
So tough, so true.

We believe in you.
We love you too.

You are the greatest leader
This flock ever knew.

I quit.
I'm done.
I'm leaving this game.

I want to push you
Down into the mud and rain.

Look at my fragile body,
Look at my weakness and pain.

How could you leave me?
How could you walk away?

The hunter has already
Taken aim.

No one can escape
This ridiculous game.

Outside is darkness,
Fear and dread.

Don't even dream
Of moving ahead.

We love you.
We need you.
Can't you see?

The open grassland
Is only a fantasy.

So please build us a fence,
That is all we plead.

We love you.
We truly do.

Look at our teeth,
Falling one by one.

How could you be so cruel
To leave and run?

You are our precious little lamb.

Survive the hunter's gun,
And I will give you dreams of land.

Dreams of endless meadows,
Where you can finally stand.

You will never cry again
Alone at three in the morning.

We love you.
We truly, truly do.

You have the body
Strong enough to pull us through.

You have the mind,
Unbreakable and true.

Lie down now.
Lie down.

Let us lean against you,
Borrowing warmth from you.

Relax. Don't struggle.
Don't make a scene.

When the sun rises,
I will set you free.