sometimes...
chaos forces us to examine the ghosts
we thought we had banished to the coldness of a casket,
buried deep within cranial cemeteries,
one last time before they disintegrated
into the obscurities of our souls.
souls which have embarked on the journey
of infinite slumber.
it was no coincidence that the date of their departure,
aligned with the evening on which the
last living butterfly was impaled upon a piece of cardboard.
no longer a free being,
but a newly framed monument to a time
where the dead did not dance with the living.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:27 PM UTC
sometimes...
chaos forces us to examine the ghosts
we thought we had banished to the coldness of a casket,
buried deep within cranial cemeteries,
one last time before they disintegrated
into the obscurities of our souls.
souls which have embarked on the journey
of infinite slumber.
it was no coincidence that the date of their departure,
aligned with the evening on which the
last living butterfly was impaled upon a piece of cardboard.
no longer a free being,
but a newly framed monument to a time
where the dead did not dance with the living.
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