I think I’ve come to realise
that all these butterflies
were merely just hurricane warnings,
the quiet hum and buzz
like the calm before the howling storm,
spinning and spinning around my head,
carrying my thoughts with them too.
They weren’t a giddy rush of love and joy,
but pure panic,
an eel wrapped around my chest cavity,
that electrocutes through and eradicates light ripples
in spring water
and turns them into
waves,
because the bed of a violent ocean
really tends to look like the sky
when you’re drowning in it.

Look at this from the land above,
let the sand fly into your salty eyes,
feel the pain and the itch–
You just don’t see the same under
rose-coloured glasses,
under drunkening rose-coloured waters.

© lilac_of_hope