• Another year, as busy as ever,
    yet out that window my cat stares forever.
    Oh the joys she has with that simple mind,
    yet those adventures are no longer my kind.
    Oh the thousands of worlds I have seen,
    many most can not imagine by their teens.

    I summon my cat to me
    expecting a rub for a fee.
    My cat pays with a rub
    and lays on my lap her skinny stub.
    Though she has very little fat on her,
    at least a few inches is her fur.
    This simple joy have I desperately wanted
    but my adventures made this quite haunted.

    Some worlds made simple pleasures a disease
    where nightmare rules, even in the trees.
    Though you may not know,
    I was there with the cousin of crow.
    Always crying nevermore
    I know who it was for.
    I walked through the peaceful garden
    but through animated toys all were hardened.

    I stare at my cat who meows delightfully
    and wonder if she could ever understand fully
    the horrors I have witnessed,
    the complexity I've possessed.
    Even my friends do not understand
    the troubles of the Zanpakutou grand.
    They have no idea the monstrosities I saw
    as a flood of parasites emerged from the maw.

    I am no ordinary person,
    I am not even an extraordinary one either.
    But my walk through fiction has me worsen,
    and if you saw this you would need a breather.
    When I read those books,
    that journey I actually took,
    seems like fiction to you
    but to me it's another venture's hue.

    But how do I explain what I have seen?
    Even with my friends who are quite keen,
    I am a stranger.
    I am, through these worlds, a ranger.
    There my cat lies who knows not of the Overseer,
    let alone the Sentinel's power disappear.
    But she does enjoy spending time.
    I guess that is not a crime.

    Yet as my computer shuts down,
    I can see Cloud Strife's frown.
    I feel his sorrow,
    and I even feel the climbers on mount Kilimanjaro.
    But a loner I remain
    and conversations I have slain.
    Without years worth of time spent,
    all is in vain for they have not a dent.

    I am no ordinary person,
    I am not even an extraordinary one either.
    But my walk through fiction has me worsen,
    and if you saw this you would need a breather.
    So instead of telling you all I know,
    there is one thing I must show.
    In all my experience I have gathered,
    I have something constant in that smather.

    My cat jumps back onto the dresser and stares out the window,
    glancing out as growing is the house's shadow.
    I turn in my chair,
    and all I do is stare.
    I have learned to enjoy what I have,
    though I may not always have a stave.
    Out that window I will stare forever,
    though next year will be busy as ever.