The Misty, Purple Cat

Chapter One-Fifty-Three ♬ - Crossroads

Don't care what you say,
Don't care what you hope to do.
You will regret this someday,
And this is something I promise you.

I don't break my promises,
So good luck scaring me now.
For this I will make no compromises,
For you will not make me bow.

And what can you do with me?
You have just the right number, right?
On the contrary, it falls to me to decide if I will be the final piece.
And all the while I will not struggle again, I will fight.

Want to join the chess game? Sure, join in.
You don't scare me anymore,
And I will be able to convey my spite without sin.
For what difference in what I'm doing is there compared to before?

Respect I gave to you, at least four times.
Unfortunately, that was three times too many.
Now I just have to wait for the bell to chime,
Telling me to chose the other path or the end of this one, if any.

Last time, I was just a rose head, with no thorns.
But now, Puttana, Italian for "bitch,"
You have awakened the storm.
Awakened my rage, which has no off button that you can reach, no switch.

This time, I have horns.
This time, I have a burning flame.
This time, oh, I have my much-needed thorns.
I have my fury which you will not tame.

Strike one, Puttana, was very stupid of you.
Strike two, oh, even less competent.
Strike three has not come, yet, from you.
And Strike four. Don't you dare get complacent.

My words have poison,
My eyes have fire.
My actions carry spite,
And my blood has by back.

No rhyme? What a shame.
But there was rhythm still,
Though it's something dark, not the same.
And now a light in the darkness moves in for the kill.

If this is my rage,
It will appear cold, mild,
To the fire another burns, for my sake.
Seeing it, my actions became all the more bold, wild.

If you win, you lose.
If you lose, we win.
If we win, I am let loose,
Freed from this burden.

But the choice isn't that simple.
If I turn my back now on this path, I will not return for a while,
Committed to me new choice, for better or worse.
No matter what, it would be better than your bile.

Two choices, I used to think there was always a third.
The hard way, though, is how I learned
There is not always another option, a third.
But right now I'm not afraid to get burned.

I'm playing with fire, can't you see?
Can't you see the pain you've caused me?
I hate that path, you know.
The one I used to love, you know.

But here I am, a torch in hand.
Two paths to chose, to light the way,
One will hold respect, the other, not so grand,
But I shall not make my choice today.

April 1, 2016
No, this is not an April Fool's joke. More venting that I finally got time for.

Also, think it's been a while since I made a poem? I have a poem book, The Rhythmic, Blue Cat where I put the last five or so poems. That's where  they've been.