ANGRY CAT

I don't know when exactly this happened, or maybe I do. Wait, yes I do. It was when I was making this right turn on my cycle, inside campus (I'm sticking to just this detail, because people outside might not connect right if I got down to particulars) and I thought, "and so, the angry cat said 'I'm on fire.'". I guess it had something to do with state of mind (as if it it's not, any time!) because I remember that I was being rather 'angry', because I know I was angry the whole of last week and it was only the night of Friday, the nineteenth that was an exception (not to mention the early morning hours of the twentieth) and I didn't develop on that, I merely had this idea where a cat gets set on fire (an outside act) and it sets itself on fire (an inside, personal act) just to counter the fire that's been set on it. Like, fighting fire with fire.

Collar tight,
whiskers spewed,
a sunset stare
with frisks of fuel;
an arched stance
to face her tired,
the angry cat said
"I'm on fire."

It's not unexplainable that everything I conceive always makes this shift of perspective... no, not of perspective, but of subjectivity, from me to 'her', and I guess it's always something about her and it's like I cannot do anything about it. Because that's 'her', you know. That's you: Someone this poem wouldn't exist without? Yes, pretty much.

I made a document called 'LITTLE RHYMES' and I added this to it, along with my previous one. That means I'm sticking to my word, with PVA glue. (No idea as to what that expands to)