I fell in love with the butterflies,
but what will happen when they die?

Will the fire still burn
when their wings no longer beat?
When the hatred and scorn are too much to bear,

will the love be enough?

Will it still be there like a blanket?
A threadbare substitution for the warmth of his arms
wrapping around my soul with the whisperings of his
poetic mind?

But what will happen when he decides he no longer wants
to be mine?
When the butterflies are chased out by cobwebs,
 black widow dreams, moths fluttering flight
sickeningly heavy in the pit of my stomach,
what happens when the spark gets snuffed out
buried under the ash of my constant failures,
what happens when he sees me as the corpse I am,
only alive when the wind of his essence blows through the open window
of my impressionable broken heart,


What will happen when reality finally hits?

The End

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