Bouquet of Bleached Bones

Butterflies~ scarred and stained, breathe within a glass cocoon spun with black-widow silk and smoke, waving weary wings in the midst of nothingness, c h a i n e d with bleeding petals from a garden of grief, caught in gossamer greed, that feeds insidious seeds to this chrysalis heart, weeping in seething silence, as the world cares not to heed tunes of trauma, ricocheting through flutes of patience, oblivious to the p a i n they flutter upon fickle fields of Zeus~ a battlefield designed in crestfallen roses, a home that froze my desire to dream. O my bloody Valentine, bloody valentine, I see through your bouquet of bleached bones, wrapped with paper promises, perfumed with lethal potions to lure me back into the crystalline cage of a vindictive vulture, dressed as Romeo, armored with Cupid’s charm, f l i r t i n g with fragility in narcissistic grace… But must I forever be a prisoner of the sinister sun, carving my skin with poisoned rays? Or am I to remain mute in your mansion of malignant marigolds? For I feel the deceptive dews floating through those corpse-like eyes that seized the skies of innocence, dragging diamond-dusted daggers amidst wistful stars, leaving me unheard and unseen, while I scream through scorching stillness, engrossed in somber solitude, awaiting the delicate d a n c e of morning glows to caress the insomniac pillows I rest my fears upon, questioning the next wave of violence that would clothe me in nothing but deep blue~ b r u i s e s.