Monday, March 29, 2010

Hate and Hopeful Songs

My lover has a loud cat.
Her claws break the skin of my neck,
They leave tiny lines and red stripes,
They have ripped through the very thick.

Our gates we call breakpoints,
Those doors, they're no walls.
They burst gushing bloody red floodgates,
Giving way to the slight of the claws.

Her shriek is a singly pointed, doubly deadly nail,
It shoots from its scabbard and into my ears.
She is a loud cat, a painful falling hail.
My lover see's, and she pity's my fears.

She will garb me in iron mail,
Or, she will trim those frightful nails,
Or, send her quiet to the night.

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