'And I don't want the world to see me'

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand'

Lace.. like the shadows of dead twigs on snow. I miss the yards of lace that seemed ever present to me before. Lace, strangled in it, by it, all wrapped up in ribbons and bows.

But a cat, is just a cat. She is just a cat. Just keep on telling yourself that. A cat, she is just a cat.

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the light is beginning to climb,
Comes a pause in the rest of the night
That's known as the hunting time.

Mau Bast! Mau Bast! A Basti, per em setat,
erta-na chu em asui neter sentra semu hena
net'emmit, hetep ab em asui tau heqt.

Translation:

Hail Bast! Hail Bast! Hail Bast,
coming forth from the secret place,
may there be given to me splendor
in the place of incense, herbs,
and love-joys, peace of heart in the
place of bread and beer.

But even cat's have their weaknesses, and so do women. While generally content playing lap-warmer to such as LexiusS, Julian Amici, Immortalis Mors, and anyone else she can get to hold still long enough to either pet, purr, or clean her teeth on their boots, sometimes this just isn't enough.

Occasionally she longs for a voice to speak, to communicate with others. Only once has she ever been seen as anything besides a cat. And this, only briefly, for the one who repaired her rosary when it had been broken, the gleaming cross a symbol of a triumph to her.. as she got it off a Deluded Priest.

There is always a struggle for dominance between the woman and the cat. 'Jynx' she has been named, and aptly. For her hijynx and her unfathomed depths. And the struggle continues, like a coin being tossed. That coin in the sunlight softly spins, the other side blameless for her sins. Will her love triumph in spite of her doubt? The coin flashes free as her curse cries out. No glory, no answer, for her or for them. Fate laughs in derision, as the coin lands on it's rim.

With a blatant facade
of sincerity as he asked
to conform my shape
to fit his hotel room
with his interpreted promises
But I left him as bold-faced
as the clock that had already
run out of more time than we
could surrender
to come back home
The clock is closer to midnight
than you to me
the rain is remorseful
outside the air-conditioned windows
Years have glued shut the doors
(Not that I have places to go anyway)
My paw extends fully
to touch your soft, dark, side
There is a small sound
of awareness
which I am satisfied with
and I breathe gently
My thoughts of you
flowed as the beers also
Inhibitions like sweat
leaving my body in this
heat you are staring into
my every pore Touching
just so perfectly as to
just suggest even invite
I want to kiss your words
when you finally ask me
I want to feel your need take
my form as we leave into a
darkness we must forget
when it is over I want to
know my name as it fills
the air about the room
and stains it with my
lasting taste

And so the tears fall, hitting softly onto shoulder sleeps now and upon it's return into forever the simplicity is now only..."I dream of fucking your corpse while its lubricated by still warm blood"

Who says cats don't have a sense of humor?

--click here to go on--