The Self Murder of Hope

The excitement of a new anxiousness
The twisting feeling of happiness
Soft butterflies
And heart racing

Little whispered words
And small moments to cherish
Things that mean nothing
And things that mean the world

A smile granted just from a simple salutation
Tripping over my own two feet
Looking down, scared
Hoping the landing is just as good as the fall

Little words
Slowly tearing apart these feelings
Mind games
Pertaining to make me give in

Holding on with the last bits of strength
My mind can hold
Tiny whimpers, asking for space
Just let me live

I take a hammer to the butterflies
Chasing them away
Smashing their beautiful wings, and their hopes that are held within
These are not my hands

Composed of remnants others have left of the green eyed monster
In my hands it forces a chase
The butterflies flee in fear
And the tears fall, watching the hands that are not my destroy their innocence

One year, passed, the butterflies took to recover
Now on their return
The force of others minds, the hands not my own, hunt these small beauties
I can only wish their return, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t

Looking at the mess on the green grass
Tears stream
This is not my work, I could not do this
But I watched my own hands destroy them

Such delicate creatures
Who could do this to them?
Covered in their pieces, I am red handed
But this was not my choice

The butterflies returned, after waiting a whole year
Only to be chased by the same person, who did not choose this
Chased away again
I can only hope they come back
And I will not give into