I'm a butterfly who's wings have been brutally ripped from my soul's ark. I have forseen what is to come. I have felt the crushing force of taking a sledgehammer to the ribcage. All was mangled by the blow. My heart still beats, but it has deformed from the optimum.
Early this week my friend was taken away from me. James Morris, a name that will haunt me for the rest of my life, a name given to my dear friend by his parents. I called him brother. I attended his funeral unable to constantly sob, though tears found their way. I did mourn, and the windows to my soul were over-watered by my heart.
My wings were damaged when my mother passed onto the next great journey. Unable to fly, I socialized with my grounded kin. They saw me as the butterfly, as I did not myself. Now that my brother has passed, the image of my wings has faded with him.
This blow to the chest, and the ache of wanting on my back cannot be healed by any mortal medicine. I fear that I will crawl without my wings, mangled for an extended time to come. Continuing to mourn for whom I lost, with the most recent as a multiplyer, stacking the scale against me.
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This is the greatest pain I have ever felt. I mourn so frequently, it has caused physical changes. My sleep cycle more distorted. The feeling of a black hole within my torso. I will be hurt more before I can be healed.
A Wise songwriter penned the following lyric. Its true meaning has become more aware to me over this time. "Common' and show them your love, rip out the wings of a butterfly For your soul my love, rip out the wings of a butterfly For your soul"
Lord Excelsior · Thu Sep 08, 2005 @ 08:07am · 1 Comments |