today I killed a butterfly
rolling it between my fingers
hate of all things living lingers
by strangulating air supply
I pleasure in its sufferingwhile cruelly crushing bone and wing
in ignorance of "eye for eye"
with arrogance I spit on fate
and squeeze the juices on my plate
ill manufactured alibi
empty stomach no repentance
devouring whole the evidence
and in the end alone I'll die
with selfishness my only friend
a maggot incarnate condemned




I just can't even see past the poor little butterflies death to embrace your magnificent display of words. Such beauty, and yet my heart is tormented as the wings of the crushed insect.




it's highly amusing 
Maybe.
18 old applause
