There lies a butterfly upon my breast,
speckled with copper tints...
What brought these blemishes, you ask?
Could it be oil, light, mere time?
No...
My butterfly tarnished with pain.
Tarnished by 3 a.m. tears, raining down upon the butterfly like a constant storm.
Tarnished by late night phone calls filled with silence and sadness.
Tarnished by nights spent leaning over a porcelain bowl, retching out mistrust and hidden pain.
Tarnished by intimate touches filled with empty feelings.
Tarnished by numerous hateful thoughts shot like bullets through the mirror.
Tarnished by empty promises and wasted wishes.
Tarnished by heartache after heartache, never ceasing, never decreasing.
Tarnished by a dead voice promising everything would be okay.
So before you look upon my butterfly with disgust and shame in your eyes,
Look into the depths of your heart
And wonder
If you'd experienced such pain,
Wouldn't you tarnish, too?
