When the Sun Comes Up

Your nimbly stencilled, night-sky black

Butterfly tattoo

That used to be daintily doodled across

Your beautiful baby face

Soft and spherical

Open wide, like the moon

Well, now I can see.

It was never a butterfly at all.

The wings covered rotten skin,

Burnt black and stretched taut across the pikes

Where rests the heads of your discarded personas:

Sleep well, girl-next-door

Rest in peace, emotionless heartbreak

Go to die, seductive and shy.

The darkness’ mouth gapes

Screaming, then

Sharp intake-

You suck it all back.

A patchy pout, your face crusted with yellow pus,

Oozing transparent film coating the

Ugly scar.

Even now, your pain is painted,

As curtains coyly close.