* * *

Someone at the door, thoughts collide and they hit the floor. You're out of time, here he comes once more. Black butterflies alight and turn to ashes. So run away, far away from the fire. Far away from the things that harm you most, Far away from desire. But you can't get free, it's very close and getting closer. It's on the trail and your pain is growing. There it is, in front of you.