Curl up on the floor, because I’ve circled this room a thousand times before and the dust has been settled the same way now for months. These stripes on my tail, the bars of a prison cell. I chitter and I yowl. I am the cornsilk lion. I am an ocean of fire and iron. Don’t keep me confined. I swear I’m not afraid. I’m not insane. I’m not losing my mind. I wanna go outside. I still remember a distant engine, the smell of petrol and your cold paws. As I sat by the side of the road, I wished we’d never explored. I am the cornsilk lion. I am the king of pretending I’m fine. I will cherish the family that remains, and hope, for now, that it stays the same. Black cat, bad luck.