With a simple tear the butterfly's wing
Is under the telescope of a fumbling child
Who didn't want to touch the dead bugs
So she killed the living beauty.
She did it to herself, once
Claiming that beauty didn't exist.
The candlelight blew out so close to the sun.
It was a simple act but I hated her for it.
She told me she hated me today
I suppose I deserved for her to hate me
I was one of those pretty things she despised
She bit off my head, today, as penance.
It just took a few simple words
And she had my own wing under her telescope
Glaring at every pore across my pale skin
And laughing miserably at my debasement.
I think I hated her, today,
But then I saw her crying
And her only wing left unfolded
I stared at her blinking,
Thinking of hatred as I pushed her over the cliff face
But she only attached my wing and flew away.
The candle melted from the heat of the sun.