Nine Times to Die
Like a cat,
I've nine times to die —
and love has taken seven.
Once,
when you said my name like it was a question.
Twice,
when you answered it with silence.
Thrice,
when you loved someone else
in front of me
like I was made of stone
instead of soul.
I keep returning —
from wreckage,
from wreck,
from wreck again.
You don't know
how many lives I’ve lost
just staying alive
next to you.
And still —
I come back,
tail flicking,
heart limping,
eyes full of the same soft hope
that kills me every time.
Eight.
That’s when you smiled
and didn’t mean it.
Nine…
Well, nine is today.
And I’m still here.
Still breathing.
Still breaking beautifully
in front of you.
So tell me —
When a cat runs out of lives,
what does she do?
Does she finally sleep?
Or does she
learn how to die
without anyone
noticing?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment