ever since you left
i've kept the butterflies alive
with thoughts of you and I
but now i'm rolling stories into
petals of poisoned nectar
because I have decided they've had their time.

because, they flutter all **** night
and they only speak of you- and to keep them healthy
they need to be reminded of why they are there in the first place-
they only exist when i'm frozen in time.

a ribcage filled with papillions
dying one by one
they end up on my tongue
mariposas-I spit them out, and save in a jar

each one
a memory I can barely remember
a feeling I will never feel again
i poison the stories,
they live at the expense of me moving on
I have fed them when i should have
clipped their wings

I cared for them because
you never came back to get them
now I poison them because
i've accepted you never will
and I hate the feeling of velvet wings
fluttering against my diaphragm.