Butterfly Diaries

All of them.

The Self performs for an audience.

An audience of one – oneself.

My audience is made up of you. You all of you, ten of you. one of you, none of you. but you nonetheless, are what’s me.

My audience is my master and their wish is my destiny so whatever you ask for –

whatever-

I will give

In my character that is as selfless as the man who pitilessly gave his life away

The best meat the gods had ever had.

Murmurs and whispers of rumours of trayal

I wanted to be a writer without a tail

But the ending is nigh, the stamina complies

A big poof but so far amazed

Sick dude for sofa displays

The breeze is touched me

now i don’t know past or dread