A metamorphosis she wrote
a little death he hoped
a matter exchange
a frown in the window pane
among a weeping black sky
in the middle of the day time
alone

oh the box is your home
little one you know
ive tried to get you to move out
but my words feel on sour notes
comfort comfort
as you choke

its digusting its morose
its beautiful its enthralling
its the truth its a hoax
its ugly its withdrawing
into your shell your cocoon

though no butterfly promotes
only carcass as your womb
just a shy regret
entombs.