Two red people on a bench of embers.
In a park with flaming trees.
Hands hanging from their shoulders, elbows locked.
Crimson palms down. Bloody fingers spread,
for support.
Stale, bloodshot eyes looking straight
yet away from the burning pupils of the puppy.
The cat scratches at the mousehole,
Its sharp claws scarring the wood.
The feline acts out of instinctive agression.
Without destroying the wall it will never suffocate the evil within.
The question then arises-
Should the cat continue
Chasing its prey, destroying what's better left alone?
But then again between craters and hippies
