The Hell Butterfly

Lament

When thoughts of you pass by me,

as ships in the night upon a foggy ocean,

I see not your purpose,

but the wake you leave

and the mists you stir

as you disrupt the peace of the sleeping sea.

You draw attention enough

to warrant a closer look

and so I grab

binoculars

and stare

at you.

You.

You who said

you would never betray me.

You who said

you would always care for me.

You who said

you just thought I’d like it.

I bet you said that

to the albatross as well

before you shot it in the head

and ended it forever.

You wear it like a scarf,

and I the matching glove,

wrapped around you

and your little finger.

Or was it forefinger?

It matters not.

 

When thoughts of you pass by me,

the ocean parts

and flows in

heavy droplets

upon my cheeks

in shapes of you.

The thunderous sea

caves in on me

and innocence in gilded treasure boxes,

unlocked with your master key,

are drowned within it.

“I’m doing this for you my love.

I do it all because I care.”

I cannot hear your voice now but

the words remain unchanging

in a memory etched with images

of you

and your deceit.

I grasp at my chest,

lungs heavy now that

they are vessels for the sea.

The skin beneath my cotton shirt

crawls as though to get away

from fingers reaching, grabbing,

a firm yet gentle stabbing

of a child’s heart.

My breast, it heaves,

as I try to force oxygen in

around restraints you put me in.

Cold hands become my prison.

 

When thoughts of you pass by me

I cast my gaze upon the water’s edge,

seeing my own face besmirched

with memories of you.

I beg my love, Poseidon,

to embrace me the way you did.

I fall into him and he takes me.

I pray that he will cleanse me,

yet below the surface now,

as underwater eddies clutch at me,

I see the albatross.

I reach for it

but I am ripped away by currents

far too strong

to fight.

I am engulfed by him.

 

You said I’d asked for it.

You said you did it all for me.

Through cotton candy filters

did my eyes and ears perceive love

in a rusty playground,

in the bedroom of a memory,

on bricks of grey beside the stream,

when awestruck over steam-trains

laying in your arms.

When thoughts of you pass by me

my rose-tinted glasses turn

into sharp cranberry.

My eyes begin to sting,

an ocean flowing once again

to make me drown.

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