With a butterfly gently resting on my shoulder,
I let my lids fall and drift away.
For a moment I could not see.
The lights were too bright, the snow too white,
the leaves too green.
An angel took my hand
and put her finger to my lips.
(she was so hott
and I was so coldd)
but she leaned in anyway
and whispered that before I could wake up,
she wanted to Play a game.
I thought she was going to kiss me on the cheek,
but then she took my eyes.
And then everything went dark.
And then everything fell down.
Nothing was too bright, the world wasn't too green.
I stumbled around, feeling my way through the redwood,
imagining all these trees I wouldn't see
grow, or stand, or burn, or revive.
I had to see the seeds growing inside of the bark—
so she turned on the light.
There was everything—
including stillness. It was stillness.
I had to keep one eye open at all times
just to make sure the angel was still there.
I had no choice but to watch her trembling lips
and make desperate gestures with my useless hands.
When she finally saw the soundless tears all over my pillow,
she pressed Play
and her voice brought me home.
She climbed over me and dug her nails into my sides,
knowing I couldn't feel a thing.
I was numb.
Her hair felt like mine,
which felt like yours,
which felt like my butterfly,
which felt like your stone.
But she wanted to Play,
so I felt again, and my heart just ached.
She promised me heaven, this angel,
and lifted the world off of my shoulders.
Before I rose again,
she took my lips, and gave them a kiss.
I never had a choice
because she could see through me.
A butterfly woke me up just then,
and I could see
and I could hear
and I could feel
but if I had to choose again,
I would rather be dumb.
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