My butterflies are half-assed airplanes
They ram my chest trying to reach the skies.
Expanding wings - crooked and unsharpened knives,
They're trying to escape, knowing they won't succeed.
These butterflies are mere undone machines
They scratch my heart and think they are alive.
Erring creations of my wicked dreams
They plead to let them fly out of my mind
Into the world where they cannot exist.