irony
They fluttered from the sky like angels or flower petals but really they were all my work. Down like scraps of confetti.
The butterfly corpses fell to my feet, first monarch then emperor and birdwing and the rest to follow, their hearts stopping one by one.
You don't know what it's like.
I'm young, and right now I can jump through sprinklers.
Feel the mist.
But it's a little bit painful. I don't want to grow old.