butterflies

autumn is funny in the way that i too, find parts of myself dying.

shedding the parts that no longer serve me, burying my heart into winter’s hibernation.

it’s a small funeral for the girl I once was.

i lay in wait for something to resurrect me like a fairytale’s true love’s kiss.

i can feel the fire inside shrinking down into embers, slowly shouldering into dust.

everything’s become dreadfully dark as i pluck out what remains in my pyre..

face and fingers soiled with ash, attempting to make sense of what is left

but there is nothing left.

The butterflies are all gone.