Crippled Butterfly

Jessymar Barbosa

Breathing still with pain that sings
She contemplates, with glitching wings,
Her mind stuck in the zone
Ignoring, that which is prone.

She’s dying, under crying skies
That lament upon her slow demise.
A sigh that’s slower
Then the breath of a clover.

It makes you wonder
Why her life’s nearly over.
Life, is the avoidance of ends
So even though a wristwatch bends.

The curbing of conclusion isn’t manmade
Like a shelf life that fails to fade.
So she’s a destined to be dismal dame.
With a body that’s forced to be lame.

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