Little girl, jarred by a logical explosion
Frakenstein’s fragile flower sucking ambrosia in
Through cracked and crumbling lungs
The pulsing heart that speaks in tongues
Expels the need to care, the need to die
Last flutter strong, you regal monarch butterfly
Who echoes within abandoned eardrums
(Echoes worse than Plato’s caveless theorems)
Plato, whose atmosphere is for icy polar perfection
For those who braved intravenous injection
Though not brave in Nordic myth nor
Virtuous enough in a Christain war
And in the eyes of every modern-day aristocrat
Your mangled wings are so hot with pale blood that
Eternal green and gold ice couldn’t bring
Any freezing faith to the burning
Of the hairs on that insect’s flickering body
And those moth-like creatures’ faces scare me
So you can’t rest on my hand
Sorry
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