The poem reads like a panic attack caught mid-sentence. Someone is at the door, thoughts "collide and hit the floor," and the speaker is told that time has run out. A figure, "he," is coming back "once more," which suggests this has happened before. The poem never says who he is, and that vagueness is part of its power: we feel the threat without being able to name it.
The imagery is dark and fragile. Black butterflies turn to ashes, something delicate destroyed by fire. The advice to run "far away from desire" is odd and interesting, because it suggests the danger is tangled up with wanting, not just with an outside enemy. Judging by the text, the speaker is both frightened and trapped: running doesn't work, because the thing is "very close and getting closer." The short, blunt ending, "There it is, in front of you," leaves no escape. The mood is tense, breathless and hopeless, with the dread building line by line.