you are a lab rat,
dancing in their labs,
through you they *** to conclusions.

You turn them from ***** to holy,
Every morning they turn saint.

It's sad how you have turned a naked god,
Cleaning possessed men.


Immoral lab experiments
Men are tresh.

Charlie was my pet rat.
She died in my arms this morning.
Her birthday was a week away and even though I knew she was old and frail nothing could have prepared me for it.
My boyfriend found her leaning against the side of her cage confused.
I had no idea how long she had been like that.
I held her for hours while I waited for my mom to take us to the vet to say goodbye.
She had a stroke so half of her body didn't work, she didn't have control of her tongue or left eye.
After a few minutes she seemed less confused as she recognized my scent and heartbeat.
Since her eyelids didn't work anymore I had to help her blink.
Her tongue didn't work so I slowly let water and yogurt run down her throat so she wouldn't be dehydrated or hungry.
This was the first time we ever cuddled, she never slowed down enough to be held for longer than a couple minutes
She was the reason a group of rats are called mischief
If there was trouble.to get into you know she'd be leading everyone else to it.
She would be your best friend if you shared your food and would still love you when you didn't
She loved her chin scratched and tried to eat my **** a few times.
Even at the end of her life she'd still chitter her teeth and boggle every time I'd put my lips to her little forehead.
Even in death her beautiful soul and pure love lit up the room
She passed a couple seconds after my mom walked through my front door.
After I took her to the vet to get her paw prints he promised me she went peacefully.
That she felt no pain and the DMT in her brain made sure she was happy.
At least she wasn't alone.
I hiked into the mountains walking down the river with my best friend in a box till I found the spot her old friends were buried.
As I write this that spot and moment feels so far away.
Like it was some ghost of myself that held her through the seizures and that covered her body in dirt.
I feel like my spirit left with hers.
Her love, like all animals was pure.
She never loved because of what I gave to her, she loved me for me.

She was my Charlie, my Char char, my charbean, my little ragdoll, my food ***, my little derp, and occasionally my little *******. She was my optimism and the silver lining to every bad day. But most importantly she was my baby and I promised to love her forever and even though she is gone I will always keep my promise.

Dear Chloe,
‎I don't know if I ever felt truly loved before you.
‎Every love I've ever has felt like a performance, hiding the parts of myself that felt undesirable so others could love me.
Who knew a sweet little rat would be the one to really see me.
‎You came from ruin like me. our lives were cowering from the predators all around us, it was looking over your shoulder and making yourself as small as possible for fear of being the next victim.
‎
So ‎when you first crawled into my sweater and fell asleep to the sound of my heart beating I knew I would never let you go. That I had to keep living so the metronome of my heart could always be your lullaby.
You will never know how you saved me.

Sometimes I wonder what you must think of me. We will always have a language divide, what do you think of my tears? The big wet drops that fall from my eyes and onto your head as my body trembles and I hold you so tight.
Do you get scared for me when I hiccup like I do you?
When I feel you for bumps and lumps do you know I do it out of love?

You have grown so much, you have gone from a shy child hiding behind her mother to loud and proud. You're not afraid to yell or fight even with those closest to you, asking for love has always been easy. There's so much I have learned from you .

You make me whole. You make my days so much brighter. So when I found the blood the month of your first birthday everything went dark. The shadows you had evaporated in the back of my brain crept through my body and froze my soul.

I rushed you to the vet to be poked and prodded. For two weeks after I spoiled you and gave you medicine, I swear you thought it was poison until surgery.
I remember waiting for the call, my leg bouncing for six hours while I stared at my screen like some twisted Schrodinger's box where you were both alive and dead on the operating table.

I finally let myself cry for the first time in weeks when I was told I could take you home.

That night I had a nightmare your incision opened up and guts came tumbling out into my hand. So when I woke and saw you chewed it part way open I ran you back to the vet. They put you back together and I dedicated all my time to you. I slept every night for a  week with my hands in your cage holding you. And the other two with you asleep on my pillow.

I know you'll never understand this letter  I hope that you know just how much I love you. I don't know how I'll ever cope with the shortness of your life but I will make sure everyday you feel loved. Though your light burns bright as fast I will never forget the love you have showed me.

That **** hurts. So many feelings stemming. Hurt, sadness, frustration. Im just trying to take care of my ****. Im doing my thing.
Can I not relax? Can I not stop?


Forever on this hamster wheel called life; forever just a rat in a cage. Fatten me up for the snake. Get nice and familiar; comfortable. Before I disappear, look unto me. See what it is you are doing. Take a look at me. And then really take a good look at yourself.

Opening your soul to the public
is to swim naked in the sewer
with scores of salivating rats.
The poseurs spill their low-calorie
compliments. The haters,
they drop the most sincere insults.
Depressed, angry, mad,
I walked into the kitchen.
Standing barefoot on the cracked tiles,
Hemingway finally made sense.
A bottle of cheap whiskey
next to the coffee maker,
it had a mouthful left to go.
I figured it would see me through
and that's what it did.

-Ron Gavalik

‍   there is a rat in our room.

‍   we've always had a rat problem, but never in our room. in the kitchen; in the living room; in the backyard, yes. i don't know how it got here, but it did.

‍   i spend most time alone in the room.

‍   i guess i'm not really alone. the rat is 'with' me. it stays out of my way, mostly, but sometimes, if i hold my breath and lower whatever song's blasting off of spotify; i can hear it. it scampers around in the clothes closet. it runs across the floors. i've seen it once or twice.

‍   no one else in my family seems to care it's there.

‍   they know it is, but they haven't done anything about it. usually we'd set up mice traps but having one in the room is always a danger - we walk barefoot and throw our things around. the trap might end up snagging us before it lands the mouse.

‍   they call the rat 'friendly'.

‍   it's 'the friendly'. sometimes, i talk out loud to it, when i'm alone. i tell it about how i'm not ready for mom to leave. i tell it about how i'm scared for college. (i must be going crazy.) i was certain that the moment it would hear my voice; booming, at no one in particular; it would scuttle away.

‍   but, sometimes, if i hold my breath... i like to pretend i can hear it listening.

Something too much?
Recognition,
the request.
For some,
for most.
It may not matter
how meticulous was
our best.

So as a raging river
a mountain I'll tear down.
Now I see the wall
rodents made to keep me out.