rev up a **** whacker

a power you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your arms and rattles your teeth
a sort of dentiphone that forces you to listen to the sound of gasoline fueled madness
a power you are about to abuse on the aphonic wings of a butterfly
a sort of way to seminate bits of shredded beauty

a butterfly is caught up in plastic death

a regret you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your heart and rattles your morals
a sort of accident that was waiting to happen that forces you to listen to the sound of fate
a regret you are about to suffer from until the day when your memory gives out
a sort of way to remember you are the murderer of a soul that most do not consider a soul

you didn't like butterflies anyway.