self denying

this is a cat that must be killed, as it purred in front of you, staring wide eyed at you, as you flip lecture notes for tomorrow’s test one one hand, and your phone complaining to him on another, head massively recovering from yesterday’s laughter, as it jumps at your every movement, and then comes back crawling at you, sniffing your toes, your bag, your hands. you look at it full of hate, and realize that in that particular moment both of you are utterly alone. the cat estranged from its home (two weeks now), barred from entering into anyone’s room (the doors are eternally closed), and even its litter box is opened revealing him burying his head into fecal sands. you, lost, at the back of the bus some two hours away, staring into some punk’s phone screen, him messaging some Bernard Bellamy about going to beat someone tonight, a skimpy skull tattoo on his arm. why brandish anything to your body? and then you thought pathetically of your scars and try to trace out an alphabet or two to remind you of who you once were. it is gone now, and you smile delightfully at the cat, as you wave him and it goodbye and goodnight (it is now four am) and return to the other room and go back to staring into space.