Dusty Meadow Mind

I cut holes in the ceiling

Of my dusty meadow mind

To free the brainsick butterflies

That cocoon in anxiety

And emerge with self-doubt

Choking proboscis wishes.

Their delicate wings

Make a mockery

Of my inexorable emotions.

And if they choose to stay,

Ignoring escape,

Their steadfast fluttering

Might pull me apart.

It’s like I was meant

To be a home

Of metamorphic grace

But I’ve become a prison

Where intrusive thoughts pupate…

And so it seems

From caterpillar to grave,

With hatching chrysalises

Fingering my brain…

I’m fading away

Into a biome

Of the unexplained.

@DeadOfNightPoetry