Routine

The green-eyed yellow-furred cat
prowls in the balcony of my
smoke-filled ash-smeared mess of a room.

She throws a glance and robs my gaze,
tags it along with her to the
boundary wall of my hostel building.

She honours my gaze - her prized
possession - with fear, reflected
in the nervous movements of her tail.

I blink and she's gone already
to a place I know exists but
is beyond the reach of my human eyes.

My days are cats
prowling in the balcony of my
smoke-filled ash-smeared mess of a room.

They always manage to escape to an abyss
I know exists, but can't see.

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Feedback 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9c8708/less_fortunate/e599a90

Feedback 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9c777c/the_bishop/e59amuj

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