When thoughts haunt and
Colours can turn from
Whitest white to the abyssal of blacks,
And the order of all things
Becomes reversed.
That shade which gives me butteflies
When my body is still.
It doesn't give me butterflies...
... but moths instead.
Big brown and black moths that flutter
Like bad dreams in the night.
My thoughts startle them costantly.
It tries to chase them away with
The light of healing time.
But time seems eternal,
Waiting a prison. And they
Do not cling to the light to turn
Blue and beautiful. No, they do so
Only temporarily, then coming back into the night,
Making time stop.
I feel ashamed to wait for blood to spill
Because no one knows I am waiting.
I am waiting alone, and I can not
Bring anyone with me.
Only my moths and butterflies.
And as I can not look into the mirror anymore
Withouth making them flutter, I look
Away and in between, waiting for
The intangible to touch me and
Turn me into
A brighter shade of grey.