This disillusionment

Is becoming a nightmare

Silver shadows turning

Ruthless black

Blood butterflies

Made of kisses

On her stomach

Who knew the Baby

Couldn't stop

The tickling skin

Across her cheek

Fingers grasp face

Cracked lips touch

The figurehead falls

With the tingling sensation

This is wrong

Little cuts start to tear

From their fragile edges

Red flows smoothly

Sickly

Making more

Blood butterflies

On her father's sheet