These butterfly wings have razor edges,
cutting through my stomach walls
as if they were hedges.
Trimming this garden of mine oh-so-neat,
for must I not look glorious in defeat?
Since defeats my displays always are,
spotlights hurt my eyes
so I crave the dark.
And only in this cover of dark, cover of night,
do I ever get the feeling things are right.
Gender:
Points: 1015
Reviews: 4