The strings attached to the walls,
the knots strung to each wrist,
Inside the mind's compond,
Lies unforgiving bliss.

The wondering eyes always follow,
actions more than words, and the curious one always falls,
into deeper water than she can swallow,

The pitch black room,
encased by four walls,
engulfs the sunlight
and banishes those who call.

Trapped inside the serene feeling,
of her private universe,
Lies inside the butterfly,
Given more than a curse.

She dreams bigger than this,
Bigger than what's to come,
but the beauty remains trapped,
in the dark with her guns.

Any knight in shining armor,
Who dares fighting his might,
May take down the bricks,
One stone at a time,

But-- If she dare try,
To loosen her wrists,
The strings will pull tighter,
and pain will inflict.

Privately hiding,
inside her scrambling mind,
The butterfly is trapped,
by the worst of it's kind.

The monster living inside,
of the butterfly's pure thoughts,
Only reeks havoc on those,
who dare to cross.

The walls only crumble,
for her to tirelessly build them up again,
because the sun doesn't shine,
On the butterfly's skin.

Strapped to the back,
of her tiny, private cell,
the monster rips apart her soul,
Causing the butterfly hell.

Someday she may fly,
Away from her private universe,
But for now she remains shackled,
By her own monstorous curse.