A tiny paper butterfly, hangs limply upon my wall.
It's a symbol of my frailty, this no one sees at all.

My strength is but a lie, a mask to hide my tears.
To take away my past, to forget these inner fears.

My mask is my internal wall, ever surrounding me.
Cutting me away from life, imprisoned I must be.

For helpless am I to stop, the coming of the rain.
At least you'll never see, my torment and my pain.

As the wall grows within, the butterfly melts away.
Someday all I shall be, is the butterfly I portray.

Alone, I shall decay.