Motyl jest owadem barwnym.
Jego kolory przypominają trochę te jakie widzi się po zażyciu psylocybków.
Motyl jest więc najbardziej narkotycznym stworzeniem jakie widziałem.
Nie licząc naćpanego krecika, który ratował Myszkę szukając rumianku.
Żebro
I don’t want to hold back. Spread my wings and go.
Let light shine through you like a window.
Let peace absorb you like the wings of a butterfly.
Enjoy our time, don’t ask why.
D takes her out to a field where there are butterflies, not as many as home, but enough to feel familiar. They sit in the grass and they’re quiet. She had been expecting him to say something, anything, but he sits there and he smiles when she looks at him. He pats her head when she sighs and he pulls her into a hug when she starts to cry.
The butterfly floated on the warm summer breeze. It’s colorful and intricately patterned wings reflected the sunlight. Gently landing on a beautiful rose it spread its wings for all to see and clearly admire. It had not a care in the world.
pretty, gross process to turn from a caterpillar to a beautiful flying creature. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh :)
YourMom
I forget. I get so surrounded by the artficial environment and intent on my survival I forget the very thing that will help me endure: the world. The real world, the one I’m in when I’m not here. The world where I see sun & sky, and a friendly cat & dog, a bird or a butterfly.
She spun in a circle. definitely not her style, but she did so anyway. she leaped over the fence, and she was as free as a butterfly. She frolicked through the field until darkness swept over the land. Then she realized she had to leave. There would be a security sweep of the Neighborhood, and she would be missing.
she hopped the fence once more, but was stopped on the other side by the love of her life. his name was Blake. blake told her to hide. confused and disoriented she ran for cover with him. he held her as they hid in silence. a sickening blast shattered the air, then stillness. Blake lifted his head and saw what had happened. Bombs. right overhead. this was the job of General Rovingshire. and he wanted revenge. he led her away, back to the fence, and once they were over again, the didn’t look back. they were alone in the world. but most importantly, they were free.
Blake said to her, “I love you my dear little Ashley. and i’m glad it was you i saved.”
she looked into his eyes. she nodded. he moved in and kissed her gently. when he pulled away, too soon for her liking, she realized how much she had longed for this moment.
“I… I…” she started.
“No need to say anything. I love you, and that’s all there is to it. We are the only ones left from our neighborhood, so let’s make the best of it.”
she nodded and they ran off into the darkness.
I saw a butterfly today. It was a monarch butterfly. It was beautiful and it flew alongside the car for a good ten seconds before it dropped behind. Makes me want to get a swan plant now that I’m in the right climate for butterflies. I used to have them all the time when I was a kid and we would get so many butterflies. Gosh I love butterflies.
She spun in a circle. definitely not her style, but she did so anyway. she leaped over the fence, and she was as free as a butterfly. She frolicked through the field until darkness swept over the land. Then she realized she had to leave. There would be a security sweep of the Neighborhood, and she would be missing.
she hopped the fence once more, but was stopped on the other side by the love of her life. his name was Blake. blake told her to hide. confused and disoriented she ran for cover with him. he held her as they heard hid in silence. a sickening blast shattered the air, then stillness. Blake lifted his head and saw what had happened. Bombs. right overhead. this was the job of General Rovingshire. and he wanted revenge. he led her away, back to the fence, and once they were over again, the didn’t look back. they were alone in the world. but most importantly, they were free.
She spread her wings wide and tested them against the wind. She turned as if she wanted the world to see them and the light glinted off the hues of the colors on her wings.
Flap them wings bitch! Keep on moving! This isn’t curling but yo still gotta go HARDER! Butterfly’s are really pretty guys, but you all have to go easy on them, make sure you plant plants so they can get their foods.
The butterfly spread her wings, blue and green and gold. She spread them as if she were showing the world her beauty for the first time and flew dancing in the breeze.
You were the little boy,
a handsome man in bloom,
a fallen angel.
Your looks, deceiving.
You were the little boy,
who would set fire
to the wings of butterflies,
and watch they fly
as they burned.
Why? I whispered.
Because.
I wanted to know how
something so beautiful
could be so frail.
She was a bit of a girlie-girl and a bit of a tom boy. As she got older she started to lean more to one side of the fence. She loved makeup, glitter, PINK, and boys. She just never found the love for Butterflies.
I have no desire to reflect upon the nature of nature. I feel so foreign, so distant from my own. What am I but a transient thing in passing; a ghost moving through the unyielding procession of time. And yet they follow too, those pitiful equally as doomed butterflies.
Entropy
Hundreds of tiny ivory tusks, bent and twisted around her tiny frame. Too fragile was she, her wings broken and bruised. The tiny butterfly could not fly no more.
She was tired. Not just tired, exhausted. She was out of ideas, out of options, and out of wanna-give-a-shit. She sat by the window, the curtains open, sun streaming in her face. Outside, a butterfly bumped into the glass.
They say if you go back in time and change something really small and seemingly insignificant when you return to the present a lot will have changed. They call it the butterfly effect.
What would my life be like if I had never met you?
The butterfly on the window was irritating the shit out of me. “Shoo,” I said to it, using the empty bottle to my left to swat at the screen. It was protected by the screen between us however, as it sat outside. It sat watching me, judging me. I grabbed the full jar near me, indulging in my misery. The butterfly fluttered, but did not leave me.
sg
in my stomach
Jazz
The butterfly landed on the leaves not far from her head; red and black . It was enticing in ways she didn’t understand, she wanted to get up and touch it, cradle it against her chest and keep it. But she couldn’t, because she was dead, and the butterfly was a sign of the Reaper.
She bounded down the stairs, legs pudgy, cheeks no less so, fingers, chin and upper arms, the same. Halloween. Legs in tights, eyes in excitement. Takes my heart.
EJ
Butterfly, social, a. Fly from one lightweight flower to the next. Stopping to gossip about the weeds in the garden.
david
If I could spread my wings and fly, I’d be gone. Like the magic of a butterfly, daintily touching everything it flies by. If I could float along, across the magic of the world. If I was as delicate. I’d be gone with a simple blow of the wind.
She was always the one that moved first when the gong sounded to find a partner. However, she never settled. Her eyes would glance quickly from boy to boy as if discovering the faults of each in a way that was both incisive and cruel.
Terry Locke
Like a butterfly she drifted through my life. Beautiful from a distance, but imperfect up close. Like a butterfly, she left my life. Changing nothing but changing everything.
Caddie
“Don’t,” I begged as he started to walk away.
“I must,” He said leaving.
Sitting there with my tears the only comforting image around me was a butterfly.
I will forever and always hate butterflies, they remind me of when you left.
I find Walls to be very useful. They keep the heat out in summer and the cold out in winter. They keep nasty people out of your personal space. Of course, there are always times you want more interaction with the outside. That’s why Jim Morrison made Doors and Bill Gates made Windows.
beautiful butterfies hanging on my wall. dies for a wonderful cause. to save more. died by natural causes. colorful wings with two complete different sides. amazing
Sherlock peered into his microscope, careful not to breathe too forcefully and blow away the delicate wing-scales. This was his last lead on the entomologist, the honey samples had turned up nothing of interest. If he could just glean a few particulates off of these butterfly scales, he might be able to tell where the body had come from, or what had been in contact with it.
It only occurred to Sherlock halfway in that he might look at the scales themselves; Butterflies tended to be very regional, if he could identify the species and even sub-species, he might be able to track it to its natural area. It was a long shot, but without further evidence, it was the best he had. He wondered how John would feel about a trip to a butterfly mating ground, wherever that might turn out to be.
The butterfly is sitting on m,y window. Oh how beautiful she looks. Just sitting there so elegant and still. No wait. No children please don’t slam the door. Bang! Well there she goes. I hope she come back and visit again.
“If the caterpillar turns into a butterfly,” asked Sadie, “what does the butterfly turn into?”
Mister Deidrich, smiling warmly, shook his head. “No, dear,” he said as he wiped away the chalk from the black nothingness in front of his classroom. “Butterflies don’t turn into anything else. They just stay butterflies.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” the teacher replied. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
Belinda Roddie
There once was a beautiful butterfly that could remember all of the pain of being a worm. It haunted her every waking moment, and although she was beautiful as could be, she felt hideous. She could see her worm like appearance through every move. Although other butterflies told her she was beautiful the belief never ever landed in her heart.
Genevieve
I was outside on a warm sunny day. watching what was to become my distraction for the next ten minutes. Yellow butterflies lifting and descending over a puddle that had accumalteed in the drive. Over, up, down the lightly touch each other.
etta
I sat myself in the grass, feeling it beneath my knees.
It lifted me,
I was suspended.
The air light and breezy, I floated.
A butterfly.
I watched it intently as it floated past,
green, yellow, blue,
swimming across my vision.
Motyl jest owadem barwnym.
Jego kolory przypominają trochę te jakie widzi się po zażyciu psylocybków.
Motyl jest więc najbardziej narkotycznym stworzeniem jakie widziałem.
Nie licząc naćpanego krecika, który ratował Myszkę szukając rumianku.
I don’t want to hold back. Spread my wings and go.
Let light shine through you like a window.
Let peace absorb you like the wings of a butterfly.
Enjoy our time, don’t ask why.
D takes her out to a field where there are butterflies, not as many as home, but enough to feel familiar. They sit in the grass and they’re quiet. She had been expecting him to say something, anything, but he sits there and he smiles when she looks at him. He pats her head when she sighs and he pulls her into a hug when she starts to cry.
The butterfly floated on the warm summer breeze. It’s colorful and intricately patterned wings reflected the sunlight. Gently landing on a beautiful rose it spread its wings for all to see and clearly admire. It had not a care in the world.
pretty, gross process to turn from a caterpillar to a beautiful flying creature. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh :)
I forget. I get so surrounded by the artficial environment and intent on my survival I forget the very thing that will help me endure: the world. The real world, the one I’m in when I’m not here. The world where I see sun & sky, and a friendly cat & dog, a bird or a butterfly.
Flitting by. Not a care in the world. Lives to eat, lay eggs and die. Such a pretty thing. Clueless that it is dying today.
She spun in a circle. definitely not her style, but she did so anyway. she leaped over the fence, and she was as free as a butterfly. She frolicked through the field until darkness swept over the land. Then she realized she had to leave. There would be a security sweep of the Neighborhood, and she would be missing.
she hopped the fence once more, but was stopped on the other side by the love of her life. his name was Blake. blake told her to hide. confused and disoriented she ran for cover with him. he held her as they hid in silence. a sickening blast shattered the air, then stillness. Blake lifted his head and saw what had happened. Bombs. right overhead. this was the job of General Rovingshire. and he wanted revenge. he led her away, back to the fence, and once they were over again, the didn’t look back. they were alone in the world. but most importantly, they were free.
Blake said to her, “I love you my dear little Ashley. and i’m glad it was you i saved.”
she looked into his eyes. she nodded. he moved in and kissed her gently. when he pulled away, too soon for her liking, she realized how much she had longed for this moment.
“I… I…” she started.
“No need to say anything. I love you, and that’s all there is to it. We are the only ones left from our neighborhood, so let’s make the best of it.”
she nodded and they ran off into the darkness.
I saw a butterfly today. It was a monarch butterfly. It was beautiful and it flew alongside the car for a good ten seconds before it dropped behind. Makes me want to get a swan plant now that I’m in the right climate for butterflies. I used to have them all the time when I was a kid and we would get so many butterflies. Gosh I love butterflies.
She spun in a circle. definitely not her style, but she did so anyway. she leaped over the fence, and she was as free as a butterfly. She frolicked through the field until darkness swept over the land. Then she realized she had to leave. There would be a security sweep of the Neighborhood, and she would be missing.
she hopped the fence once more, but was stopped on the other side by the love of her life. his name was Blake. blake told her to hide. confused and disoriented she ran for cover with him. he held her as they heard hid in silence. a sickening blast shattered the air, then stillness. Blake lifted his head and saw what had happened. Bombs. right overhead. this was the job of General Rovingshire. and he wanted revenge. he led her away, back to the fence, and once they were over again, the didn’t look back. they were alone in the world. but most importantly, they were free.
She spread her wings wide and tested them against the wind. She turned as if she wanted the world to see them and the light glinted off the hues of the colors on her wings.
Flap them wings bitch! Keep on moving! This isn’t curling but yo still gotta go HARDER! Butterfly’s are really pretty guys, but you all have to go easy on them, make sure you plant plants so they can get their foods.
The butterfly spread her wings, blue and green and gold. She spread them as if she were showing the world her beauty for the first time and flew dancing in the breeze.
You were the little boy,
a handsome man in bloom,
a fallen angel.
Your looks, deceiving.
You were the little boy,
who would set fire
to the wings of butterflies,
and watch they fly
as they burned.
Why? I whispered.
Because.
I wanted to know how
something so beautiful
could be so frail.
She was a bit of a girlie-girl and a bit of a tom boy. As she got older she started to lean more to one side of the fence. She loved makeup, glitter, PINK, and boys. She just never found the love for Butterflies.
“come my lady
come, come my lady
be my butterfly…
sugar, baby!” -Crazy Town
I can’t think of something to write. This word is doomed to lame responses. Anything else though would be improbably grand!
I have no desire to reflect upon the nature of nature. I feel so foreign, so distant from my own. What am I but a transient thing in passing; a ghost moving through the unyielding procession of time. And yet they follow too, those pitiful equally as doomed butterflies.
Hundreds of tiny ivory tusks, bent and twisted around her tiny frame. Too fragile was she, her wings broken and bruised. The tiny butterfly could not fly no more.
She was tired. Not just tired, exhausted. She was out of ideas, out of options, and out of wanna-give-a-shit. She sat by the window, the curtains open, sun streaming in her face. Outside, a butterfly bumped into the glass.
They say if you go back in time and change something really small and seemingly insignificant when you return to the present a lot will have changed. They call it the butterfly effect.
What would my life be like if I had never met you?
The butterfly on the window was irritating the shit out of me. “Shoo,” I said to it, using the empty bottle to my left to swat at the screen. It was protected by the screen between us however, as it sat outside. It sat watching me, judging me. I grabbed the full jar near me, indulging in my misery. The butterfly fluttered, but did not leave me.
in my stomach
The butterfly landed on the leaves not far from her head; red and black . It was enticing in ways she didn’t understand, she wanted to get up and touch it, cradle it against her chest and keep it. But she couldn’t, because she was dead, and the butterfly was a sign of the Reaper.
She bounded down the stairs, legs pudgy, cheeks no less so, fingers, chin and upper arms, the same. Halloween. Legs in tights, eyes in excitement. Takes my heart.
Butterfly, social, a. Fly from one lightweight flower to the next. Stopping to gossip about the weeds in the garden.
If I could spread my wings and fly, I’d be gone. Like the magic of a butterfly, daintily touching everything it flies by. If I could float along, across the magic of the world. If I was as delicate. I’d be gone with a simple blow of the wind.
I saw a butterfly on the subway today. I thought it would get off at Bloomingdale’s and buy a hat, but it was a mistake, as most hats are.
She was always the one that moved first when the gong sounded to find a partner. However, she never settled. Her eyes would glance quickly from boy to boy as if discovering the faults of each in a way that was both incisive and cruel.
Like a butterfly she drifted through my life. Beautiful from a distance, but imperfect up close. Like a butterfly, she left my life. Changing nothing but changing everything.
“Don’t,” I begged as he started to walk away.
“I must,” He said leaving.
Sitting there with my tears the only comforting image around me was a butterfly.
I will forever and always hate butterflies, they remind me of when you left.
I find Walls to be very useful. They keep the heat out in summer and the cold out in winter. They keep nasty people out of your personal space. Of course, there are always times you want more interaction with the outside. That’s why Jim Morrison made Doors and Bill Gates made Windows.
beautiful butterfies hanging on my wall. dies for a wonderful cause. to save more. died by natural causes. colorful wings with two complete different sides. amazing
monarch, colors fly, die, beautiful, travel, bag, small, big, collect, flower, nectar,
Sherlock peered into his microscope, careful not to breathe too forcefully and blow away the delicate wing-scales. This was his last lead on the entomologist, the honey samples had turned up nothing of interest. If he could just glean a few particulates off of these butterfly scales, he might be able to tell where the body had come from, or what had been in contact with it.
It only occurred to Sherlock halfway in that he might look at the scales themselves; Butterflies tended to be very regional, if he could identify the species and even sub-species, he might be able to track it to its natural area. It was a long shot, but without further evidence, it was the best he had. He wondered how John would feel about a trip to a butterfly mating ground, wherever that might turn out to be.
The butterfly is sitting on m,y window. Oh how beautiful she looks. Just sitting there so elegant and still. No wait. No children please don’t slam the door. Bang! Well there she goes. I hope she come back and visit again.
“If the caterpillar turns into a butterfly,” asked Sadie, “what does the butterfly turn into?”
Mister Deidrich, smiling warmly, shook his head. “No, dear,” he said as he wiped away the chalk from the black nothingness in front of his classroom. “Butterflies don’t turn into anything else. They just stay butterflies.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” the teacher replied. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
There once was a beautiful butterfly that could remember all of the pain of being a worm. It haunted her every waking moment, and although she was beautiful as could be, she felt hideous. She could see her worm like appearance through every move. Although other butterflies told her she was beautiful the belief never ever landed in her heart.
I was outside on a warm sunny day. watching what was to become my distraction for the next ten minutes. Yellow butterflies lifting and descending over a puddle that had accumalteed in the drive. Over, up, down the lightly touch each other.
I sat myself in the grass, feeling it beneath my knees.
It lifted me,
I was suspended.
The air light and breezy, I floated.
A butterfly.
I watched it intently as it floated past,
green, yellow, blue,
swimming across my vision.