The Hell Butterfly

Archive for July, 2018


I am a paper-thin outline of skin.

This, all that remains,

all that contains my nerves

and veins,

a micron-thick flesh shape of myself.

Muscles so skillfully removed

no incision can be seen

upon my blueprint skin.

Bones left to dust,

a powder in my almost

empty shell.

I am a trembling structure.

Flaking, crumbling, collapsing.

I am undone.