by Synonymous

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;

A romancer.

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.

by Synonymous.png


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.