He was a cat, and lived in a pink room.

 

Living like a cat last summer,

Couldn’t afford sheets or real food,

But the room was a soft pink,

And the lumpy mattress felt softer than the bricks.

 

Living like a cat I was,

Crawling under piles of clothes to nap,

Eating cans of tuna (pocket sized),

Basking in the sun so the shade felt cooler.

 

Cat life is great for those critters,

But at 6’+ and a bundle of seething “more,”

It’s feline for some but didn’t sit right on me,

So I’ll gladly hand it back this time around.

 

Feeling a bit more canine today.

 

Though cans of tuna still roll free,

I have a forever human to lick,

Hopefully I’ll get older than a pup –

— goddamn pet control still wants to lock me up.

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The Pink Room in its Reflective Glory
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Exhausted by my Lizard Brain

Totally burned out from my own stupidity.

 I’m a bundle of rubber bands soaked in gas and shot from the pointer finger of a child into a hornets nest occupied recently and hanging ominously over the heads of the “citizens” I interact with and think I care about.

Marbles on the floor.

Bloated pig boy climbing a greased pole with a pit of leaches for incentive.

A wobbling top hatted cat man sans tail inviting strangers and catastrophe into other strangers homes.

I’m Murphy’s Law made flesh and bone. When Murph cuts me slack, I hack the rope.

A failed sexual attempt and that moment when you know it just ain’t going to happen. Suspended in that moment where a million statements collide with shame, curiosity, frustration, resignation, and humiliation is the tug boat that hauls my mental shipwreck offshore to sink.

I’m birds glued to a windshield.

I’m an emotional, meat bodied Golem running on a baseline lizard brain and no directive.

It’s exhausting…shouldn’t be…doesn’t have to be. No one need get hurt emotionally. I think the drunken assembly team floating out in the ether had an apprentice on shift for when the wiring went in. Fuck.