walls.

does the butterfly
ever choose
to stay inside
the cocoon?

like the blanket
of a hot shower;
melted wax
and hot stones.

there is no need
to grow wings,
if you never intend
on using them.

as a child
could i have stayed?
clutch in reverse
until just a passing thought.

are there ghosts
for those
that barely lived?
or do they never really die?

ask me again
and i’d protest;
let me stay
wall to wall.

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