HellCat’s Little Soapbox

i want to know the answers.

the correct ones,

the perfect ones,

the ones that will stop me

from gazing up at my bedroom ceiling

as the night passes by.

i’m afraid, though.

fear crawls up my spine

soaking my skin.

i'm afraid the answer

simply doesn’t exist.

am i in the wrong place?

or an old puzzle piece

unable to fit in the right place

due to edges frayed by time.

in her cruel nature,

she snatches everything away.

like a forest fire,

unrelenting as it turns

lush green to ash grey,

nothing but mournful black land in its wake.

but we can’t blame time,

for cruelty is in her nature.

so we blame ourselves;

i blame myself

for not fitting in,

for not catching up,

for not growing and

shaping myself into the mould

of other’s expectations.

and all I can do is wait

and hope time will do it for me:

hope time will smoothen

my frayed ends

or tear them off entirely—

whatever it takes

to make this the right place;

whatever it takes

Beats upon my heart. 

People twist and scream in pain, — 

Dawn will find them still again; 

This has neither wax nor wane, 

Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town; 

I sit in my chair. 

All my thoughts are slow and brown: 

Standing up or sitting down 

Little matters, or what gown 

Richard Parker: How do we choose who to kill and eat?

*all crew members eye each other*

2nd oldest crew mate: *clears throat* So…you all know I like to read, right? I read this one book that talked about shipwrecked survivors eating each other. And, well, the bloke they ate was named Richard Parker.

*uncomfortable silence while they all look at Richard Parker*

2nd oldest crew mate: I’m jus’ sayin’! Could be a sign, ya know? It can’t be a coincidence.

*They all turn to Richard Parker, with hungry eyes*

Richard Parker: Fuck.

*hours later*

2nd youngest crew mate: Never liked that little fucker anyway.