Pretend that I am God,
that I can see all,
I know all.
It is a fantasy
this child play,
this lie that lives forever.
The bright red wings of the butterflies
flutter for hours, they flutter as I watch
them rain down in the green humid jungle.
I am but a metaphor for a change
a blanket of the netherworld
a sharp twisted pain that cramps
the heart, that flecks against
the mind causing blindness.