Butterfly

Through the blue, I see cracks.
Every month a new one falls toward the floor...

I hear nails being hammered into old wooden doors, behind, little girls yearn to come out and play...

In reflected mirrors, I see them fall into the awaiting smile...

With lips that aren't mine, words are whispered that flow like honey to the ear...

Sentimental songs play, their words pull tears onto pallets of cracked grey hues...

I search a now frozen heart to find the entrance to the place of your love...

Backwards I fall...

Like a rare butterfly, each little pin seals a fate youth cannot save.