Sharp Shadows

The light streaming in from the pure white that sit outside my window.

Illuminating, only slightly, the butterflies hung above my head.

Barely showing what they truly are

only allowing me to see sharp shadows dangling by threads

left for me to stare.

Waiting for me to reach to their jagged black edges.

The wind picking up causing the cold glow to shift as the branches of the trees bend in the movement of the air.

With the shape shifting butterflies in motion,

feeling it in my head unable to discern whether or not I have fallen asleep.

The room taken over by light and shadows.

Unable to know what there is and what there is not.

The butterflies now beyond recognition.

Left to be sharp shadowy shards of something meant to be pure beauty,

pure art,

now rotten with confusion of the night.