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Cold Room

I feel so many butterflies right now,

But not necessarily the ones you would want.

More of like

A bunch of butterflies who are on

Their last push, and they have been pushing and fighting

To get the fuck out, but my stomach continuously encloses on them

Forcing them to suffer

Because it hurts so good.

I feel the fallen cocoons swaying

Waiting to be dispersed fairly;

They did their jobs.

Now they are empty souls

Echoing what was.

I’m confused how they are multiplying

When no life is being offered,

But I accept it.

Sometimes it’s better not to know,

But to move forward.

So, I breathe.

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