BUTTERFLY COLLECTOR
by zane




and i don't care about morals


so i stop and look around and listen. not for anything specific, of course; just everything, in general. to make sure that nobody was around - nothing would hurt me. nobody.

after a minute of absolute silence, i let out a sigh of relief and place my backpack on the ground.


'cause the world's insane and we're all to blame anyway


i unzip it. it's a nice old thing - from my freshman year of high school. friends drew on it in boring classes, i used it every day. it's been a faithful friend.

i pull out a candle sconce and a pack of matches. shaking the matches, i realize that i only have one left. gulping, i pull the match out, light it, and hold it to the candle.

praying that it takes, i sigh with relief and hum with excitement. i blow the match out and throw it as far away as i can.


and i don't feel any sorrow


i pull a book out - 'famous butterfly collections of the 20th century'. i hug it to my chest - butterflies have always been my life, ever since i first saw one as a child. so beautiful... majestic... and free.

i've always liked the free part.

i pull a magazine out - gay porn. nothing fancy, just a bunch of guys jacking off and fucking. i wouldn't mind a good fuck.

i pull my penis out of my pants and jack off to the magazine. finally, i release it all onto a picture of a muscular guy with red hair.

i put my penis back in, close the magazine, and place it delicately into my backpack. i dig farther in.

i take out a knife. aspirin. alcohol.


towards the kings and queens of the butterfly collectors


i take a sip of the alcohol. it perks me up.

i then cut. first the right arm, then the left. then my ankles, thighs, stomach. red blood drips down. i reach down, rub a finger in it - still covered with cum - and lick it.

the treasures of life.

i open the aspirin - a brand new bottle. 200 tablets.

i hold it to my mouth, let my gag reflex go, and i am swallowing aspirin. happily.

if i want to die, it'll be done right. and completely.

i take the bottle of alcohol and pour it over one arm. then the other. then i take a fucking bath in it. it burns my cuts, i feel like throwing up, everything's a-okay.

i take the candle sconce. i took the candle sconce. it flickered, beautifully, in the warehouse. my skin looks orange next to it.

my life didn't flash through my eyes as i dropped it.


and i don't feel any sorrow


a team of firemen dig through the ruins of an old warehouse - J&O, Inc.

one calls out in surprise. "hey, check this out!"

a backpack. green. burned and covered with ashes.

another delicately opens it, and removes the gay porno. still sticky.

nothing like the present.


towards the kings and queens of the butterfly collectors



author's note
if you made it through that, i'm proud of you. it was flow-of-consciousness shit. i thought it was good.

the song was butterfly collector. the version i used in this song was by garbage. not written by them.

who knows?