It’s kinda strange…
I don’t know of any cockroaches with butterfly wings
But I soar and I tear, fragile, yet staunchly agile
Survivor of black death down drown the Blue Butterfly, winged horn,
Will the touch of an imagined hand get you through to the morn?
Already mourning losses in progress
And great depths of waters don’t touch the wings of butterflies or the legs of roaches
And yet they drown in my heart, flooding the noah’s ark of charted terrors.