Everlast [1. 7. 24.]

ratgirl [24. 2. 24]

"why so messy?", is what she asks me.

'why so messy?', is what i think.

none other to blame but myself.

beautiful chaos and beautiful clothes on the floor are my shell.

for i have nobody besides myself.

no friends, nobody else.

outside of my phrontistery,

nobody contacts me.

i am not worth a friend to them yet,

they are worth a friend to me.

then-

at home, all alone.

no matter if the temperature is warm or cold.

no matter if my room's door is opened or closed.

no matter if my speech is silent or bold.

not physically yet,

i'm at home, all alone.

my mind's imagination is organised.

quite organised and clean.

the thought of true friends, a fun life and romance is with what it gleams.

i live in my room,

apathy lives in me.

life is not miserable,

nor is it fun.

it's like this for all but,

at the same time for none.

none other to blame but myself.

beautiful chaos and beautiful clothes on the floor are my shell.

but gosh,

doesn't it look like hell?

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea

there will never be a lucille. [20. 1. 24.]

the heart of she continues to beat,

but she is dead.

the pupils of she keep on intaking,

but she provides no output.

the limbs, the blood, the grace.

the reputation, the responsibility, the face.

the sins that flood the grave.

she needs help,

she'll never be able to obtain.

she is gorgeous,

she's glamour.

she tries not to think yet,

her mind is clamoured.

she's gorgeous,

she is glamour.

she's staring death in the face and

send off bouquets stare right back at her.

a stare so comforting,

so sweet.

her feet gently pushed the chair to the side.

her body flies; so eager for death to meet.

the road was hard.

her soul, now fed.

the heart of she used to continue to beat,

but now she is dead.

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea

fischer's girls, fischer's girl [31. 5. 24.]

let me descend into madness alone.

free of association with others, cold as stone.

let my descent into madness be mine and mine alone.

i've recently discovered bobby fischer and dreamt of him lots...

and i've been playing lots of chess.

why are the mad men the most handsome?

and at what they do, always the best?

now that drives me mad.

but if i'm the best, will i go mad too?

not that he would think much of me,

my insignificance similar to that of a shrew.

a pawn, a gawk and goner.

he's right because i am quite lousy at chess...

and i'd like to stay at home.

he's wrong because i can cook

and i don't and won't leave the intellectual affairs alone.

and other than chess, i'm quite good at them.

i wish to be left alone but not to be left like him.

let me descend into madness alone.

free of association with others, cold as stone.

let my descent into madness be mine and mine alone.

and when i meet my demise, for it, i think my mental would be fit.

during life, people laugh and

my name, they begore.

and i declared i would not be it.

and when i meet my demise, for it, i think my mental would be fit.

i know i will not be missed.

64 squares; a chess board full.

piano chiming in my ears,

dear God, i'm a such fool.

no friends, no company

it's not worth my soul-

nothing is worth just a nobody.

let me descend into madness alone.

free of association with others,

let my descent into madness be mine and mine alone.

i would not be able to fix him,

i'm not even able to fix myself.

i wish i was able to...

to do both.

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea

greetings, my alstroemeriaceae. i just want to inform you all that i have uploaded some other poetry that sort of touches a different aesthetics on my other page @insanitygirls . so please go check that out. i appreciate the support, and i love you all, bye!!! <3

hey, my alstroemeriaceae! cattille here! you have spoken, and i will listen!!!

a new poem series is on the way!!! cannot give you a set date on when it will happen but will be soon. especially since i'm out of school for now.

there was never a lucille. [19. 1. 24.]

everyone worries about the physical purity of the girl, lady, woman.

why doesn't anybody care about the mental purity of the girl, lady and woman?

telling to her keep her hands to herself.

to keep her eyes to herself.

her skin to herself.

her very presence.

but letting others be so quickly to impurify her mind with the red hot dousing of "bitch", "whore", "slut", "broad" and more on the stainless cloth of her psyche.

for that is worse than the judging irises

looking upon her like a virus.

worse than baneful whispers.

she then is mentally messed up for life,

finally proper and put into line by being called such foul monikers.

but, for she has no mind.

no light within her iris, pupils too.

she then is judged for that.

she is then going to be messed for a second time.

she will have nothing lacking in the eyes of the world.

no soul, no mind.

-- for rot has stripped it from her

she will ascend past humanity...

to femininity.

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea

display [29. 4. 24]

i wish the people around saw the beauty of my soul.

i can understand how they may gaze over it and not realize how elated they could be to see it.

it is only not purely a classic, dolly beauty i possess.

it's a beauty only for the fatigued, harrowed eye-

for they are the only souls who can appreciate it's entirety entirely.

it's a beauty similar to no thing but,

to describe a close match;

it can be grouped together with the beauty of

black cygnets, bloody, and covered in clots.

unharmed,

not hurt.

for my visions are hazy and blurry.

forevermore covered in dots.

perhaps it is good that many ignore.

no threats to me,

less of the foul souls score.

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea

cattille's core catalogue ['24 - '25]

cattille's catalogue ['24] : lieux, personnes et actions

cattille's catalogue ['25] : pays de rêve

demolish [7. 4. 25.]

exposure,

closure.

for sure,

i definitely need more...

more of it.

for i crave it like nothing else.

i'm in a space,

one with a fairly comforting embrace.

for i know it's just a burst of blackened energy.

but when it becomes rosy,

i'll hold close my posy.

looking at the petals for faith...

looking at the leaves for an esplanade...

looking-- the stems, for they are pretty waif...

and looking to the browned roots for gen.

Copyright © 2025 Cattille Quettea

there is no lucille. [18. 1. 24.]

i wanna be more.

i need to want less.

less to earn,

less to get.

more to give,

more to learn.

why can't i keep the things that i earn?

must you rip them from me?

under and out from my hands?

my accomplishments are yours,

because we are friends.

but now we aren't friends.

no friendship seeds verdant.

don't expect me to again

remove this burden.

look what you've done.

look what you've made.

eat it all up,

dont avoid your plate.

no efforts of yours were verdant,

refrain from writing of letters,

you've sewed what you've sent.

now wanting to be friends?

now wanting to repent?

your accomplishments are mine,

because we were friends.

you and only you...

are the burden.

Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea