An Ode To Haddaway

.

It begins with kecking a blue butterfly,

watching it struggle to stand afterwards

with a kind of perverse fascination. You cry,

hand flying to your mouth, before you turn

and rush to the bedroom, your safe haven,

blood-red hearts chasing after you,

hovering above like Apaches as you

take cover under the blanket. Why?

Why him? Why now? Your cheeks turn red,

and another butterfly crawls up your throat.

 

Cupid lurks in a lonely corner of the room,

a poison-tipped arrow glaring at your head.

His harp giggles when you scream in pain,

when you clutch at your hair in complete and utter vain.

.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s