The butterflies have flown to the garden next door
Where I no longer feel their wings upon my silken skin
My mind sinks into the daydreams of a little girl
Who longs for fairy tales and mystic lands of splendor
But as my eyes shift and this vision begins to focus
I enter the cellar of what is the reality of today
A mere glimmer of hope shines through the window
However the stench of molding cement walls
Fills my lungs reminding me of the death I see
There is no field of wheat to run through
I lye on the bones of all the people I've killed
No flowers caress my skin and perfume my body
My flesh morphs into the skeletons I've kept
The dreams conceived by the child I had been
I have buried them beneath the pillow that I sleep upon
And yet as I rest my exhausted spirit in the night
I drift to no place and feel the heaviness of the day
As the sound of wind whistles through the cracks
Of the house that I claimed to be my home
I watch the life that exists outside of these walls
The leaves from the trees are brushing against the window
Trying to clean the dust that had built up throughout the years
My mind drifts to a sadistic state where I no longer exist
Just the carcass of myself in this empty coffin
The melodies of the night drown the noise of my demise
And in the end there is nothing left here, where I am
Not even the neighbor's garden, where the butterflies lived