there were butterflies
dripping on the floor
it was the finest piece of art
shielding the poor broken mind
that was hiding behind it,

oh she couldn't help it
as the butterflies flew
away, away from her body
and there was nothing other to blame
than her tar black soul.

years of being told you were wrong
no trust left here
indifferent to most everything
it's a warm black tar pit
evolution of apathy