a black cat, on the side of the road, its skin
torn apart in splashes of visible red
it's puling, singing in the night the horrors
it experienced, the abhorrent tunes piercing
the tranquil peace of the eternal twilight

feet are booking it back home, curfew's nearly here
but she's got smeared lipstick, the taste of tryst
coating her speech, a white hot fire burns in here chest
and she feels like the world could take her on
she'd look it in the face and absolutely decimate the wrong
seeing this cat, watching as it limps across the street
unknowing that someone else except the moon
can hear its unbidden cries
it shatters her heart, smashed like a wine glass full of wine
everything pours out of her as she approaches it
and picks it up, it smells, oh boy does this thing reek
but she'll love it far more than anyone else has
it needs it

the cat's wounds are closed up soon, its fur
finally smelling of watermelons and cherries
instead of the rancid stenches of the street
congealed blood no longer lingers,
but what does linger is the cat's affection
this is newfound but it's gracious nonetheless
no one has given it life before
given it purpose,
and this girl, who peers over a light
with a grin slapped across her face,
means so much to it, she's a new friend
someone to appreciate until the end
of time, and this mindset will
stay, stay, stay, as it sidles up to her side
and purrs, she scratches its head
coos and says,
"if only he let me touch him like you do"

oh, her clothes are coming off, her head
is filled with excitement, this is happening
this is finally happening, and oh no,
did she forget to feed the cat? did she
forget?
don't think about that right now, she tells herself
it's not really important right now, what is
is how his hand is slipping underneath her skirt
playing with the hem of her undergarments
oh, he plans to go all the way tonight, she knows
and she won't stop him

it's sitting in her bed, waiting for her to come back
the tapestry on the wall is pretty and all
but she's more beautiful, the cloth
never took it in and cared for it
no, the cloth just sat there, just like the cat
waiting for interaction
then the cat leapt off the bed and started
swatting wildly at it
the tapestry's mocking him, this is true
it got hung up and displayed far longer
before it got there, it's something to show off
to present to others when they come
the tapestry's torn down eventually,
falling to the ground in a limp state
no bones keeping it upright
no one to keep it afloat
the cat feels proud about itself
this enemy has been vanquished
and its owner will be so proud, too

he's not sure about the cat
the cat doesn't like him, either
they're staring at each other as though
rivals
but she can't ask him to stop
she did before, the first time he came over
the moment he heard her question him, though,
he got defensive, then started to harass the cat
calling it a hoe, making sure it knew its presence wasn't
appropriate
so to be away from him but close to her, the cat
sat on the desk, rifled through the college papers
with its meddling paws, and stood its ground
"what's wrong with it?" he asked
"nothing is wrong with it" she replied
but it never seemed that way
even from the beginning, it was wounded and hurt
"you need to get rid of it" he says, and
in his tone, there's something of certainty
as though a demand of some sort,
spoken to be listened to and regarded with
power

she meekly responds, "it's not hurting you"
"it never wants to stop making trouble" he snaps back
he always has a response
he always has something to say
there's nothing that doesn't get past him
so she concedes in an agreement
the black cat's purring suddenly stops,
it leaps off the desk
and sheets of paper and pencils and pens
flies from its platform and smacks the ground
skulking out of the room via the door,
the cat cannot hear him saying, "good riddance"

the cat won't eat
she tries to make it, places it
provocatively near some catnip
(she wonders if it has ever had any
and supposes that it would like
the high instead of its wallowing)
no dice
it's hard for the cat to move
it remains sedentary in its blanketed bed
opening its eyes only rarely to regard
the two college-goers when they
head off into the room
it cannot hear him
but it can hear her screams
and it cannot sleep during these times
the sounds are overwhelming
who else can hear her? it thinks
everyone, from in the apartment building
down the street, through the city
into the tunnels of downtown's subway system
everyone can hear her, and this sound
this horrendous sound
will haunt it until its death
let it be, it thinks, let it be

"he's not really into it anymore" she says
as she's stroking its fur, awaiting the purrs which
used to accompany such an action
this doesn't rouse anything from the feline
"he always says he's not in the mood for it,
or he wants to do something else instead,
and it's -- it's a little annoying, because
why won't he? he's loved it before, he's
done it so many times, is he being a pussy?"
the cat cannot answer, but this phrasing --
this irks it, the boy (the man, it corrects itself)
is not a coward, not someone who would back
away from something so glorious as her solitary gift
"i get it if he doesn't want to, but not every day
he will though, he'll want it, and then we'll
be fine again, we'll be a-okay"

she is wrong, it wasn't a-okay
nothing is all right
everything has gone wrong
she ends up having to walk
home, home alone, with
the rain, pouring, drenching her as
though she'd dunked her head into
a pool and kept it under, in her chest
she can feel her lungs remain in dysfunction
her clothes soaked, the cold deepens
her skin unprotective to the frigidness
creeping steadily, tingling through her body
when she finally gets home, cuddling her favorite pet

seems to be the only thing
she wants to do, but in the corner of the room
she finds it in the corner
a lipstick bottle lays open near it
a chewed portion of the substance missing
she's too stunned to turn it over,
and look into its face,
so it rots for that night, rots
and sits and stinks
she doesn't get rid of it yet, though
it stinks and stinks and stinks
yet she keeps it around because
at least she has some company