Do butterflies scream when they burn on the lamp?
My thoughts are hurting in this clamp
That is my mind.
So many of them left behind.
My mind has gone south for the winter.
Mandalas made of cat skins haunt my slumber
So many nights I've lost
It's not a number.
I'm a ghost
Of what I almost was.
Our memories are made of smoke
That I've inhaled so much, I'll choke.
Please put the furniture back the way it was.
When the alcohol drowns my thoughts
I won't be afraid of the dark anymore.
Please turn off the lights before you leave,
I can't stand the butterflies screaming.