● The ginger cat ●

It was you — you were always there, under the same roof, your footsteps echoing at 3 a.m. I’m sorry, dear sister… you stand before me, yet I weep for your death. You’re right here, but I’ve already worn my mourning black for you. In my mind, you were always in some corner, bleeding. Your blood smeared across my knuckles, as I stood before you… smiling. Tell me — does mom’s cooking still taste sweet to you? Can you paint your view for me? Up there, do you see the horizon, or have you built yourself a lie? Count the clouds for me. How many hollow dreams have you stitched together? I cheer for you — jump headfirst into them, and watch the truth come crashing down. You could have taken my hands; I would’ve helped you tear the clouds away. But now… how do I touch the hands of a ghost, when I killed you inside me? You didn’t even bother to throw your corpse away. Every time I see you, its stench fills the air. My tears carry the blood of a thousand silent murders in my mind. I’m sorry, dear — but from now on, all those glasses… you can smash them against your own head.