She was only seventeen,
With a life made up of lies,
Numbing pain, a lonely heart,
And a love for butterflies.

The bluest blue of butterflies,
She kept them lock and key,
Until the day when raging guilt,
Implored her, "set them free".

They stretched their weary, withered wings,
They opened up their eyes,
And then her darlings vanished,
Into the cold October skies.

Her heart then filled with panic,
Frantic, she searched the air,
But blue on blue was quite the same,
She couldn't see them there.

She leaned against a tree trunk,
And in despair she wept,
"Those butterflies were all I had,
Those butterflies I kept."

And then she felt uneasy,
Her back felt strangely numb,
She looked back at the tree trunk,
At what it had become.

The bark had changed to baby blue,
Her stomach filled with fear,
She watched with disbelieving eyes,
As it began to disappear.

When it disappeared into the sky,
She stumbled toward a stone,
But when the stone turned crystal blue,
She was standing quite alone.

She snatched handfuls of flowers,
Fiercely inhaled their lovely scent,
But their colors began to change,
And away the flowers went.

A last act of desperation,
She threw herself to the ground,
The tears began to burn her eyes,
Her head began to pound.

Slowly the earth began to shift,
And almost like a balm,
Upon her heart descended,
A bitter sort of calm.

The world had disappeared now,
The only one who heard her cry,
Was a single sky blue butterfly,
Who had come to say goodbye.