Butterflies Becoming

There’s a girl with source-less light cast upon her,
She points the way, at the fluttering souls that guide.
Struggling towards what he prays to become,
no disappearing back to the sane lands he comes
from in order to rebuild destiny one more night.

She’s fading, pulled in all directions and distorting.
He’ll become what he’ll become, not the smile she’s sporting.

A coy smile presses her lips back,
and diamond eyes glint from the fire beyond.
As she grins, she’s stretching like elastics
becoming brittle, thinner, fantastic
furthermore to what she sees he wants.

Reaching, and losing pieces as he pulls forward fast,
butterflies are peeling from his back towards his past,

Were it just another shipwreck, both would sink, and none would break.
Were it just another tumbled bridge,
there's be hope again to rise.
Were it just another broken lantern, there would be no fault in mistake,
but ever since they met, they've both been dreaming all their lives.

She wonders what it feels like to be disintegrating like he is,
to be both black and white and blinded where he’s fading into grey.
She’s laughing how he’s shredding into a million fragment souls.
She finds it just as funny how he runs away from black holes,
watching pieces of himself sucked in as he takes steps away.

It’s a stretch, but he’ll be no longer,
failing escape from a collapsing universe’s hunger.

She’s a glowing spectre with her arms outstretched,
and the butterflies keep coming at him, or maybe leave him far behind.
He fights to touch her light when he should follow his own
current to the end of all things to resist ever being known
as the one who fought to death to be the one who never heeded signs.

Hail of fire in space, he can’t reach her, and she laughs.
The stars are lines he walks on, his prenatal epitaph

Were it just another shipwreck, both would sink, and none would break.
Were it just another tumbled bridge,
there's be hope again to rise.
Were it just another broken lantern, there would be no fault in mistake,
but ever since they met, they've both been dreaming all their lives.

Tomorrow night, he’ll walk again, this dream or hers reprised.
She fades as he is shredded, and soon his hands are butterflies.

Were it just another shipwreck, both would sink, and none would break.
Were it just another tumbled bridge,
there's be hope again to rise.
Were it just another broken lantern, there would be no fault in mistake,
but ever since they met, they've both been dreaming all their lives.

We still have tomorrow night.
Let's give this another try.