Little butterfly I see why you choose to cry --
tumbling down, inch by inch; watching as you die.
Little wings broken, little heart taken;
Surly wondering, why should you be forsaken?

Then I choose my words wisely, --
or unwisely,
depending on interpretation.
See, my truth lies, and my malice is as true
______as my premeditation.
Yet, I still fight temptation, in this relation;
and awe at my hesitation.
As I put self-gain to the way-side, step aside,
and catch the forsaken - so in warmth it can reside.

Such a sensation in this relation --
question, dear question: why such temptation?
My hands sweat and my brow gains impossible weight;
yet still, I leave myself to question this hate.
Question the great swell of agony in my heart
and question my motives from the start.

See:
My warmth burns the little butterfly today
and I feel quiet content in this way:
knowing that I took what was not mine.
Saved the forsaken, only to cast again aside --
_______back upon the winds dethroned vine
and in doing so taking hope and heart,
forming -- a love-lost tart.