Awful
Black butterfly,
Lacking even the blue dots,
worn upon the wings
ripped off by smiling children at play
I dwell in the shadows of low light
I'm forlorn and forbidden
Alone
My feast,
contains saline and salty tears
Unloved
Grasped by unpoetic hands in the stillness of midnight
No matter how pretty
How soft
What expensive things I decorate my unholy self with
I dwell alone
One of many
Forlorn, forbidden things