That butterfly used to love me so true.
See how it flutters, and stutters, and flies?
One time, long ago, it would land on me.
And the meaning, the meter, the soft rhyme,
Would come erupting out, very much like
A cork trying to hold the rumbling sea.

And at the time I was inherently broke.
In such a way I would never be fixed.
The sadistic butterfly loved it so,
And would visit for days and days and days.
My masochistic self never stood a
Chance, but I never minded, no,
I hate me.

But I sought help, I fought self, I bought hell.
The butterfly took off from my shoulder.
It flew off and left my soul to smoulder.
And how I missed it so, I could not
have ever imagined life without it.
And so it continued for a long while.

But I fought help, I sought self, I bought hell.
I could not lose my butterfly again.
See it dance elegantly in the wind?
It loves me, and has returned to bring my
Sweet words into existence once again.
That bitter sweet butterfly,
It has landed.