like a cat

with the good kicked out of her, she roams the streets

with no good in her

her sadness

feeds her madness, like helpless victims, she will hurt

her pain, needs expression

her orange fire flare

burns the skin of anyone who touches her

her yellow eyes are artificial lights

shining through

her saddened soul.

She walks between power-line shadows

and the birds don’t chirp

they stay as still as screws

dropping white rain

on her mangy coat

She scowls, with stiff, abrupt, contortions

and stares up

at the beautiful jewels

claiming false innocence

in their silence.

Her venom is a snake inside

She will never be adopted

People throw her scraps, to make her stay away

Only the old man on 4th street, gives her spiritual milk

but it’s always gone bad—not all the way—just enough, so she can drink it down

and she laps up the kindness

while thinking of all the prey she will eat

ripping rat hides to shreds

is her religion

She worships the gods of pain

utter indifference to her sad situation

So dangerous

so lonely

no matter how much she kills

animal sacrifices won’t redeem her soul

Even the old man, with the beautiful blue eyes, with tired skin, like an unmade bed

can’t love her

and her pain is the hurt of the world

that tears itself to shreds.