I stood atop a hill surrounded by hills; a dreary, barren place.
All but a house, a red brick house calling my name
So I go.
You opened the curtains for me to peer through your windows
And the butterflies bloomed in wholes;
But when I knocked on your door and you couldn’t answer
My ribs became a cage that festered
The butterfly’s dance.
When they withered inside of me, disenchanted,
I held onto them unknowingly
A cage of rot and decay.
But when you peered at me through your windows
And your voice escaped to lure me
A butterfly emerges again
Blossoming from the ashes
To complete its tireless butterfly dance.
Synonymous is a pen-name whose owner is interchangeable.
If you relate to the stories being told by the writer Synonymous, then you as well are Synonymous.