Palms astride reality
articulate and come together
to cup a sad butterfly,
my lifeless heart.
Sad veins and tired, raw blades
frantically percussion; with a quick riff
of brushing cymbals,
blood pumps stronger,
sharp wings strike the air,
shattering its magical glass
in the struggle to be free.
Palms astride reality
with lazy elbows bent,
plucks at strings, unplugged,
while stomaching tingling
insects that crawl
to his insipid tune –
all the while, the wild
butterfly is reborn.
Metamorphosis is paramount,
escape is key
to sanity and freedom –
all happening in his sweaty hands
as he scurries back…
either side or reality.