The Gilded Butterfly

May 1, 2011
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I'm a mariner lost at sea, 
I'm a butterfly with broken wings
I'm a heart without a beat
A lifeless land of lonely things

If I were to walk the halls of my own twisted mind
On each and every wall at least one picture would reside
In every single room would be one reason for my life
And the shot above my desk would be one of your smile.

Every day I would wake to see you stare right back at me
The love that I resent because it keeps me from being free
I'd sketch your eyes to see the light of impossibility
I'd watch the pictures of your face, both love and enemy.

I'm a mariner lost at sea, 
I'm a butterfly with broken wings
I'm a heart without a beat
A lifeless land of lonely things

Now I can see that however kind, my love is a curse
To ignore it I can try but its the reason that it hurts
With time i realize that it can only ever get worse
So the only way to save my soul is to lose you first.

So in a rage of vengeance and infuriating pain,
I gather all your pictures and tear them from their frames
I pile them up in rows and stacks behind my old domain
Strike a match, throw it down, and watch the growing flames.

I'm a mariner lost at sea, 
I'm a butterfly with broken wings
I'm a heart without a beat
A lifeless land of lonely things

I watch the sparks that dance, follow patterns hard to find
With every breath I take your name echoes through my mind
My soul belongs to you and yet im trying to leave you behind
Whatever I am doing I'm scared it's going to leave me blind.

I kill the fire and find a single picture that remains
No matter how I want things to end, this is not the way
I'm only hurting myself again, this is self inflicted pain
The image that I hold is of your lonely crying face.

I now know where to go to keep my heart alive
There is nothing else to do but stop trying to hide
I can trust myself to feel, and despite the tears I've cried,
My emotions will rise from the ashes like gilded butterflies.

I'm a mariner found at sea, 
I'm a butterfly with gilded wings
I'm a heart with a new strong beat
A growing land of old fixed things





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