She watches a butterfly breeze past her eyes,
The colors reflecting across the grass.
She reaches out to grasp the hues,
But they fall through her fingers
As pain breaks through her knee
And her body closes in on itself
Trying to shield her from the ache it causes.
Sometimes she will wear dresses on ordinary days
Because if she looks good, sometimes she can trick herself
into thinking that she feels good.
The tulle unfurls around her waist.
For a moment she is a blossom in autumn,
precious, vibrant, a miracle,
not a person collapsed on itself,
bringing down everyone near,
like a black hole.
Sometimes she will stand outside in a storm
While everyone else runs inside.
You’ll catch your death if you stay out here
but death has already pulled her near.
It grabbed ahold when she was born,
Pulling her to emergency rooms,
Growing out of her ear like a thorn.
It curled its way around her knees, her joints, her brain,
It moved her muscles, pulling her closer to its embrace.
What did it matter if the thunder was threatening to bring down the trees outside?
What could they do to her that her body wasn’t already doing to herself?
Everyone had an end to their song,
Hers would just end a little earlier than most.
Let the storm do it’s best; she’d lasted this long.