Monday, 18 July 2011

Butterfly

A poem written by Blood Butterflies (Tessa)

There's a dead Butterfly in my palm
There's a dead Butterfly in my palm,
I picked it up, who knows where,
Put it in my hand,
Carried it everywhere.

There's a dead Butterfly in my palm,
I crushed its wings, who knows how,
Held it out to someone,
Saying, "I don't know where it was found."
There's a dead Butterfly in my palm
I watched it die, flip, flap and flop.
Cold, heartless and stony.
Emotions drain from the top.
There's a dead Butterfly in my palm, I think it's a her,
And with a sickening lurch, I realize I'm the murderer.


Posted with her permission.

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