that night i saw a white cat polar white and it glowed the dark all around it growing darker like a black and white photo but its eyes were red, sanguine hungry and feral. i saw a white cat like a warning, premonition to a bad dream about storms, swamp monsters and poisoned confectioneries
daily i count scars and bruises, try to find unmarked skin because i am the summation of these things: the body that i do not protect. once they were hidden, these lesions and wounds. i kept them beneath my clothes, layers and layers of fabric meant to keep my secrets. but i'm not keeping secrets anymore.
it rains and i see you out the door, or it happens the other way around but there's rain, and there's you and if you weren't leaving, if you could stay, keep your arms around me, i would think that white cat something imagined, a hallucination of sleeplessness
but there it was, and there's the rain and here i am counting my scars.