He Who Once Killed a Butterfly

I once took a snake,
and drowned it in a flower.
Stale venom, to wilt,
the roots of infatuation,
where hollow fields weep.

I once took a tree,
implanted it upon the world
Atlas was burdened with.
Lost and morphing,
I once ate his spine;
this Godly feast
all logical thought, deceased,
soaking in the pity stares of screaming thieves.

Fisting, this viscal rend,
satisfied like candles
lit single, but burning plural,
as I wish upon the giddy stars
that clocks were fastened to my skin.
(so spinning would turn time back)

I once cleared the skies
in fragmented sunshine,
my hands upto the sky again.
The memories all bled,
I breathe out the tornado
of a butterfly dead.