the butterflies have claimed my corpse. the rain gently falls between my rib bones for hours, weeks, months, years. there is no sense of time. there is just sleep, nothing to sustain. {terrifying yet sobering.} i'm an organ donor, stitched back up with nothing but lilies and pink roses to line the places where skin still coats me. {harrowing yet honest.} funny how the subtle clues become pieces that we hold against people for not putting together. {horrifying yet justified.} the real honor stems from the why. i was tired of running from my foundation - my own two legs. the science experiment failed, i was just tissue and scars. i was just a burned esophagus and a string of refusals. oh, my darling, i am with the butterflies. i may not seem them, {for they have claimed my eyes too}, but i feel them flicker behind the spaces where my skin used to be. {temporary.} it was never as simple as just closing the book. it was never as simple as prescription pills filled into color coordinated bottles. it was suffocating and blinding, more often for other people than myself. {i never meant to hurt you.} maintaining was too terrifying, it did not fit my values. {where is that line between me and it?} finding home was a simple as deleting my body, a key i always avoided. find me in the music that only you can hear. {i'm in here.}