To Bloom as a Butterfly

To Bloom as a Butterfly

To whom can I express

and feast my eyes for the future,

as they decay in the past, swollen and

dull like the personas I portrayed.

Apologies are worthless,

words flow from my lips,

and morph to lies,

disfigured in a stunted growth,

never to blossom to truth, but fester in the fortuned sun.

If I am to trot on ice, let it burn my sole,

and embed me thick,

so I witness the pain this shell

has inflicted.

If I scream, audibly for once,

Then allow my tears to slither

down my face like a snake,

and with its venom, in hopes,

melt away the ground I stand.

And be the catalyst , penetrating the

crust around me unlike imploding caterpillars to butterflies.

Still alas, the truth finds me,

Realization plunges upon me and I it,

and as my frustration sinks into the ice,

and the dome closes around me,

a single thing is reveled, I am arrested,

tied by my own ropes, and captured,

to never blossom,

to never be.