Butterflies don’t inspire her 

She is more about the caterpillar 

No one understands the little bug

Ugly on  the outside, hoping to burst out the beauty on it’s wings

Float free wherever the wind directs 

If it can outrun the shoe 


Birds don’t inspire her

She is more about the bat 

The little blood sucker that haunts the night 

Owns the dark 

Fiendish Sonics echoing through the silence 

Understood only  by it’s kind 



Clear skies  don’t inspire her

She is more about the raging oceans

The ferocity of the waves, whipping unfortunate rocks 

Obliterating all in it’s way 

The mystery of the vast watery grave 

Swishing bones and metal around 

Floating the wails of those it has claimed




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