Black Cat Fever

Sometimes I see cats out of the corner of my eye. Black and slinky. Glaring yellow eyes but they never meet my own. It makes me wonder about this friend I had. She saw cats when she hadn’t slept much. It makes me wonder if i’m sleeping enough. But I already know the answer to that. 

Every time I close my eyes. Standing up, sleeping like a horse. Thinking of the nonsexual jake gyllenhaal to my heath ledger. she’ll tumble in like sun dresses and summer. Listen to Jimmy Eat World. Breeze home like fall. 

But I digress. These cats…

The only way I’ve found to chase them away from the corners of my head, is to drink copious amounts of coffee. Of which I hadn’t even really touched until about two years ago. The caffeine supports tunnel vision and the ability to monotonous tasks without outwardly complaining.

The heating system at work runs through the warehouse like ventricles. Ducts overhead and along the floor. I imagine being inside a heart. This is what I think about at work. It is the safest thing that runs through my mind. It doesn’t cause whirlwinds through my gut and it doesn’t rip through my inner filing cabinets. It just sits. heavy. On my mind.

I imagine the cats filling the ventricle ducts until they break them and come spilling out like black, furry blood. Hissing and clawing.

The furnace creeks a lot. In that wat that sounds old and follow and haunted and it always sounds as if it’s directly behind you… The warehouse makes every noise a little bit louder, a little bit crisper. The open space, tall ceiling, cold floor feeling. Hissing.

I’m going to make more coffee.
If there are typos, that’s ok.


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