cattille.quettea

please note that all of my work is under the copyright license of "all rights reserved" [©] ; this prohibits anyone from using, modifying or "continuing" my work without my written consent.

let it be known that i did not own / edit the photos i use alongside my works unless there is a "catquette" or "cattille.quettea" watermark on it.

do not forget to follow my my actual girlblog: @sveltette <3

verselets

recueil de poèmes

'bloom'

published friday, 20. 3. 26.

'witness'

published: friday, 20. 6. 26.

'cocoon'

published:

yarns

-

miscellaneous

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i have a feeling i will lose it all.

presentiment tells me that i'm about to fall.

the presage looms heavy over my head

like it wants me to know i'll soon be dead.

i have no idea what's coming over me.

a lot can change in a single year, as you can see.

i wish to be with creation and to be free.

why does nobody ever listen to me?

i need to change the scenery,

in order to become all that i can be.

from love, it's an illusion and from it, i'd be free.

it pains me to realise that it's all conditional.

i'll survive even though i feel my soul slipping.

i'll survive even while the point's near tipping.

i will survive and i'll be free.

i lose it all, my family.

i will be free; break from the threshold.

it will no longer hold me.

Copyright © 2026

bloom in my room,

wilt in the eyes of others.

blessed be the souls of ours.

blessed be the souls of our mothers.

all for so long, i yearned

for the warmth of others' approval.

but now that earns none of my concern.

i wish to flow in the winds,

so peacefully.

i'm aware as things grow worse,

that belief is akin to cinders.

my hope is singed.

still, it's completely dead.

my hope,

she's pushing up daisies.

she looks up at me.

my eyes,

my face,

my limbs,

blood and grace.

"nothing is new under the sun," she states. "your shock is missing and that is commendable. but indifference is the difference between you and the unconscious."

awaken, you all.

all of you must awaken...

then rage against the goats.

"you're a high-shot flower,

inexplicable flavor."

i got your minds...

in this song.

i'm your high-shot love.

---

walking 'round in cold,

like i've never been told how to love.

it's my mind,

oh- so divine...

nothing could ever come close.

---

so i run,

then i rose.

that's the high-shot craze.

i sink and i say,

"nothing good ever happens these days."

hot mother venus, do you hear me?

i need to feel this.

feel this now.

hot mother,

i am screaming.

screaming from contentions,

unnerved apprehensions.

hold my face and shake out my brain and

let it run down my head so i can taste it.

why does it feel as if i've strung out?

ho- hold me in your arms.

keeping me safe and

safer from harm.

i need to know what must be done in order to evaporate.

i'm in need of operation now.

hard to self-medicate when at home and

there is holes in the doors.

mother, i am yours.

take me home.

hot mother venus, do you hear me?

i need to feel this.

feel this now.

the femininity of madness.

the madness of femininity.

i'd love to be crazy,

i'd love to be free.

there's femininity in madness

and lunacy in femininity.

being expected to give your heart,

being expected to do everyone's part,

then, manducate your feelings when it's fallen apart.

and if you don't, you're never spared and looked upon with admiration or commiseration—

no consolation.

you will lay...

lie?

to live another day.

but when you go and you are a loss,

they'll make another to take your place.

she'll be taught,

she will grow,

she would become--

compared to you, she is listless.

but you lived despondently and died in a similar attitude so,

you'd never know.

but when she leaves.

again she's a loss,

they'll make another to fulfill the course.

again, she's going crazy

and that's a must.

i contemplate my generation.

the fruits of a volatile nation.

i do not like it, but i can not leave it.

been feeling lassitude lately.

i've truly got no foul intentions, but

embarrassed by my vigilant nature.

you may not notice,

but i feel it, feel...

the transifixation is in my hand

and i'm too weak to stop the bleed.

too spooked to inquire for help,

they say it's just a trait of my breed.

and my heartbeat sings the tune of the life i wish to live.

it's a life of lies that i lead.

it's a life of lies that lead me.

from shore to shore and coast to coast,

it's lies that we sleep, eat, and breathe.

through the thick and the thin,

it's lies that always guide me.

say,

i feel just like a fool.

is it bad that my life isn't full?

at times, i feel i've wasted it all.

periodically, i feel over the moon.

sporadically, i feel that it should be my end.

then, i haste to discern it is much too soon.

but that's the absolute worst part of waste!

it's all the time that is now lost in space.

no method of repossessing,

no use of second guessing.

i suffer because i sense that i am so stripped.

stripped of what could've, what would've, what should've been.

speaking is my urge to shift blame to other things.

but i've suffered what calamity that behavior brings.

i hear the iniquity throughout my dwelling.

rue reeks from the walls.

compunction peeks at me while i sleep but hides its face from me in the day.

it dictates all i wish to speak of and say...

consuming my being completely and

a husk is left where meat should be.

i tried to build a foundation...

with high esteems.

couldn't figure out a formation of it means.

now it's just an idea of fornication...

with greater perspicapsity.

but i just can't shake it from my being.

i've tried everything.

i've given everything a try.

now that, that would be my final lie.

it maims my head.

and loathes my bones.

it stirs my skeleton,

mutilating home.

my nervous frame cause my muscles' strain.

and then i cramp!

and i stay.

i attempt to go,

to get away.

i can never assuage myself.

oh, i'm so mean.

but i just can't shake it from my being.

costing me much,

my productivity.

i've tried everything, and that i mean.

to drive,

to die,

it's all the same.

my mind,

my heart,

brittle bones and face.

killing yourself for perfection is a way to live.

dying because you cannot achieve it is also a way to wear your skin.

it's nothing.

it's nothing at all.

relish it and watch them fucking fall.

to drive,

to die,

it's all the same.

my mind,

my heart,

brittle bones and face.

i'll drive,

i'll die,

it's all the same.

want to make it up to all of you lovelies, new poem series? yay or nay? (vote, i sincerely beg of you)

please note that all of my work is under the copyright license of "all rights reserved" [©] ; this prohibits anyone from using, modifying or "continuing" my work without my written consent.

let it be known that i did not own / edit the photos i use alongside my works unless there is a "catquette" or "cattille.quettea" watermark on it.

do not forget to follow my my actual girlblog: @sveltette <3

verselets

recueil de poèmes

'demolish'

published: friday, 23. 5. 25.

'spun out'

published: sunday, 1. 6. 25.

femme folle

published: monday, 25. 8. 25.

hot mother venus

published: monday, 20. 10. 25.

high-shot flower

published: thursday, 20. 11. 25.

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'inno-doll' series [21. 6. 25. - 26. 6. 25.]

cramp

published: saturday, 21. 6. 25.

waste away

published: sunday, 22. 6. 25.

her life, a lie

published: thursday, 26. 6. 25.

yarns

-

miscellaneous

-

annonces

vote

announced: friday, 30. 5. 25.

vote results

exposure,

closure.

for sure,

i definitely need more...

more of it.

for i crave it like nothing else.

i'm in a space,

one with a fairly comforting embrace.

for i know it's just a burst of blackened energy.

but when it becomes rosy,

i'll hold close my posy.

looking at the petals for faith...

looking at the leaves for an esplanade...

looking-- the stems, for they are pretty waif...

and looking to the browned roots for gen.

cattille's catalogue ['24] : lieux, personnes et actions

cattille's catalogue ['25] : pays de rêve

cattille's catalogue ['26] : décor nacré

[after the "loss" of a shoddy "friend"]

rot, inexplainable rot.

froth, unforgettable froth.

loss, an unfortunate loss.

or is it fortunate?

it's early to determine.

now, i don't feel as if i have lost a single thing.

yet, as of now, i do feel a bit empty.

more room left in my life,

more room for the scar tissues.

more room for building up

and becoming more.

after the wound is cleaned with hydrogen peroxide,

germs are harshly ripped and stripped for it.

froth, stinging froth,

froth, singing froth.

froth, froth, FROTH!

if wishing on a star won't grant me friends,

perhaps nothing will.

and just because i lack companions,

does not means i never lack having time to kill.

loss, silencing loss.

loss, violently loss.

loss, loss, Loss!

but i must occupy my life,

i must occupy my time...

with useful things.

i must occupy mine.

i aspire to not

rot, rot, rot.