Butterflies in the shadows

Butterflies in the shadows

These blue wings change with time. 

All she hears is the fluttering of wings like whirlwinds weathering her storm...inside.

Taking hold of that last fruit, on that tree, 

so that no one else could see.

That she's still been hanging in there. 

For now, 

let them know that she grips on to life with her strong hand,

clenched fist because she's faced it head on...again.

Without doubt, 

her minds an endless ocean, that's untrammeled. 

Her thoughts, salt, 

that adds no taste to the so called truths that she's been fed. 

She knows, 

that some place out there is a pain less than this that she felt right then, 

that will make her cherish the sun's warmth on her face...each day. 

She dreamt, for the tenth time,

that they spoke again. 

His voice like karaoke to the opus these needles make when she feels them penetrate her skin, 

through the slits of nearly healed cuts on her delicate wrists. 

They say, 

opposites do attract. 

Yet the broken pieces she called heart, 

didn't have enough love to welcome her image in the mirror that night, 

before she cried herself to sleep, 

in the shadows. 

She could not hear the fluttering in the dark, 

because butterflies do not like the shadows too. 

She never did say she was mad at him for this, 

not once, 

but only that she hoped he felt like this too.

11/09/18✅