Morphing under the midday moon, my she-wolf hides in plain sight, attempting to separate facets of her, hoping to outrun the pain. If only it worked, take it from a schizo poet...
Each chrysalis gives birth to fifty sad butterflies that break souls in their beauteous descent. True to her nature, she gives away her light to the blind, and keeps none for herself.
What I'd give to have your head on my chest this very moment, to be your comfort when you tire of putting on the brave mask and breastplate...
I'd give mi all.
I'd give my life to her, who is my life.
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