Winter is waiting
\nLike an old hospital room
\nWhite and clean
\nYet so foreboding
\nThey will wash the walls
\nOf my presence
\nScrub away
\nUntil there is nothing left of me
\nStrip down my pictures
\nReplace them with plaster
\nA life cast of me
\nMolded too tight
\nUntil I cannot breathe
\nSuffocating and gasping for air
\nInside a white washed room
\nSterilized of life
\nWhere dolls sit
\nWith clairvoyant glassy eyes
\nOf Ovid\u2019s butterfly
\nFluttering helplessly
\nSettling down
\nIn a flourish of color
\nOnly to die slowly
\nCaught in the grip
\nOf Winter\u2019s cold fist
\nSuch an absence
\nSuch a silence
\nIt deafens me
\nEchoing off white walls
\nThe screams of the plastered casts
\nOf those who came before me
\nFaces protruding like the gates of hell
\nLeaving me too blind to see
\nStaring blankly
\nAt the horror before me
\nI wonder why I am here
\nWhy I wound up
\nIn this white washed room
\nSuffocating in a prison
\nWith no windows
\nNo sound
\nExcept the noise of madness
\nAnd the sound
\nOf a rotting brain
\nAs the butterfly takes its last gasps
\nYou left me here
\nTo slowly decay
\nI watch the butterfly
\nCurl, wither, and deform
\nFrom the beauty it had been
\nWatching my fate
\nUnfurl before me
\nWith a merciless slowness
\nI am waiting now
\nFor the white to capture me
\nTo whisk me away
\nInto some fairytale dream
\nA reprieve of this white washed room
\nBut the butterfly\u2019s ashes
\nLay around me
\nStaining my palms
\nIt will never leave me
\nWinter is here
\nWith its worn cold hands
\nI refuse to go with you
\nBut I cannot stay
\nTake me with you butterfly
\nFor where I am going
\nI hoped I would never be
\nSee you on the other side
\nOf this damned eternity
\nFor now I will hope for a better destiny
\nAnd try to avoid the inevitable
\nBy hiding behind the mask
\nOf a butterfly\u2019s face
\nIn plain sight
\nA flourish of color in a white room
\nWaiting for fate to find me<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Winter is waiting Like an old hospital room White and clean Yet so foreboding They will wash the walls Of my presence Scrub away Until there is nothing left of me Strip down my pictures Replace them with plaster A life cast of me Molded too tight Until I cannot breathe Suffocating and gasping for […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[1416,1118,666,878,221,1415,548,120],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2634"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2634"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2634\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2636,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2634\/revisions\/2636"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2634"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2634"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.multer.com\/people\/monica\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2634"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}