A cat scratches
where once she slept,
chewing copper bags for luxuries
and minted vermin.
Danger never has a minute
and as knives and rifles feed or kill
with equal calm
reflections will always look better
in print than screams in a bathroom mirror.
A cave filled with roses
has no light,
theres no forgiveness in addiction.
The cat walks alongside a prophet
on bloody tracks;
there are no new stories
or exciting new news,
death is welcomed once again...
@Steven Francis poems 2009
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