Sometimes, during playtime on lone nights,
My cat scratches my hands that they bleed,
And the fragile heart fears the old scars,
Screaming years hurt inflicted by known hands.
I lit a cigarette; habit I tend to lose,
Sit under the moonlight darkness,
And think on desires to destroy next.
My insane mind wanders the traumas,
Those never see the light of relief.
During playtime on lone nights,
My cat acts
As he’s dead on my life.