Black Butterflies are everywhere.
Flying up, down, on my head, on my heart,
      in my hands. Everywhere.
An opened cage, dangling from somewhere
      within me has broken.
Black gildings and metal works are
       slowly crumbling.
The butterflies are leaving.
One by one.
Then two by two.
Then by groups. Multitudes.
They're leaving.
They're leaving.
Leaving me.