The Blood Butterfly

A boy goes out into the snow, looking for meaning, a blood butterfly. He doesn’t wear a coat because he isn’t cold and he is lost in thought because he is alone.

In the cold he meets a rabbit, a blood butterfly. He doesn’t know why but he follows the rabbit into the woods.

He follows the rabbit, but something is wrong, a blood butterfly. The trees are black and dead, not of winter but of fire.

In the forest the rabbit is gone, a blood butterfly. Then the boy saw a man dressed in purple who was like him, identical.

He approaches ( the boy ) and he says hello, a blood butterfly, but there is no answer and the purple man does not move because he’s dead and the worlds turn black.

And the boy can only see death so he looks through the dead and sees only a blood butterfly on a burning flower.

So he picks up the burning flower and ignites the night and fire, a blood butterfly, so he walks painting a great fire of dark art.

Yet still it is dark until the night is burned away and theirs nothing left, but sadness is left in the collapse of shadow and theirs nothing because it is dark, until spring comes.

And he saw a blood butterfly and another, 6 and 7 was the total. His sin, lost but swarming around him.

His lies taken from him, bleeding and painting a heart of blood turned white and grey.

Yet still, he is in night, lost with an eclipse of sins unknown, he looks at the stars and sun and is blinded by four things, a rabbit, a fire, a corpse and snow. He falls to his knees in shock and awe, never the same again until the end, never the same until the end.