Pillboxes

The Butterfly and the Hurricane.

Let them crawl into their dark holes and hide
Injecting their kerosene and nova into the skin of your world
So they can what? better blind themselves and carve out the pieces they desire!
I'm tired of it, all these excuses and sour words and bandaged walls and planted hearts...
They float the pieces through the sewers running under my face like a dead man and call it Argo
But I see through their wax paper- I know-
Deep inside that mole tunnel they fall in front of the mirror, shred their knees, and wish they were only human...