the butterflies I thought had died
built cocoons within my stomach cavity
shielding themselves from the heart break
that had followed shortly after
the words "we're over" left your lips

Your eyes, always heavy with worry
accompanied by a hint of loneliness
pierced through my every attempt to shut you out
but when I refused to feel the warmth of your embrace
you grew tired of sowing the rips I had tore in your heart
and you left me to fend for myself in an unfamiliar crowd

A once colorful and vibrant bouquet of flowers
now sat on a rickety coffee table immersed in murky water
the petals, withered and discolored lay in a pile in front of the vase
I had saved them, regardless of their bad condition
because it was all I had left of you

the butterflies stay nestled in their cocoons
while your eyes lock with another girl's
we had ran out of thread, so my heart still remains in pieces
a project you never cared to finish
and now your embrace is felt by another
and the flowers have begun to grow mold

razor blades between teeth, words cut deep into your ego
image the surprise when the skin broke and your hateful words bled out
a puddle of uneducated assumptions and misread actions on the floor
an adult she had seemed to be, but on the inside the little girl had never died, only her teddy bear and crayons had been traded in for knives and a bottle of pills
now she recites the bed time stories she heard as a child onto her wrists
and the sound of her blood hitting the floor, had become her lullaby

the smell of my hands after a cigarette
brings me back to my childhood
when my mom would hold my hand
her palms warm and strong
and the scent of her american spirits would cling to my hands
and stay long after she had let go