My fucking pet rat

For six years,
since I was eighteen,
I have been carrying a white rat
inside my left breast pocket
in a long grey coat.
I have paid attention to no one,
just that rat.

When I fucked
two rape victims
who thought they loved me
in two nights,
the rat was there.

The rat was there
when I told them
to ignore the guilt
and remember that
no one needs to know.

The rat was there,
stronger than ever
when I got drunk
and fucked her
in the back of her partner's car
right on the seat where her child
usually sits
whilst someone loved me
from an empty bed.

The rat was there
when I got drunk
and threw him over a table,
and when I threatened to kill myself
if she did this
or she did that.

My rat is currently looking
at a place in the record books
as the longest living rat to date,
and he has survived
in a coat pocket
nibbling at bits of me
when I give him the chance.

No one knows he is there,
they just think it's me.

I tried to show someone once,
but he wasn't there
and we fell in love
for three years,
but the rat
came back
and now I sit
staring at these walls
or pacing frantically,
whilst the rat continues
nibbling away
at the last few remaining
morcels
of
my
heart.