4 November 2012
Butterflies, wings as cold as ice They drag their edges through my stomach Sick, deep down, and ready to vomit I'm ready to fall and I'm ready to plummet
A t w i s t i n g , A CHURNING, Čôńvûłšîñg, A *b*u*r*n*i*n*g* A frigid Expression Of darkness I'm yearning
A blazing A dazing A little Amazing I'm heaving And breathing These colours are Crazing
A picture A fixture A change deep within And A melting A pelting A b'u'b'b'l'e'g'u'm' DIN
It's a swirling implosion Of fog, mist and fire An inky erosion Of _nothing_ desire
Ice Butterflies • Opuss № I