Nineteen drops of blood,

And a body coiled with wire,

Electrocution, suffocation

And death by evaporation.

Just a shell now, sweethearts,

Vanished like barefooted smoke in the sand,

Ran, walked, crawled, spat

Up and down my spinal cord.

I'd like a tattoo on my waist,

Of a butterfly, a butterfly,

A technicolour butterfly,

Soaring rebel without a cause.

Danced.

Flew.

Fell.

Brokenbruisedburnttorn.

-

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Maybe I should go to sleep.