A Confederacy of past torture came to an end,
and the small and slimy worm
night knew it was time:
reborn in another body.
He climbed to the top of the corroded sheet
that crowned his tree house,
well, as an altar,
and reveled in his image of delicacy
sacrificed to the gods.
Their purpose? That
that his dirty skin,
abject, disgusting, used for both
pretend to live when in fact it was a coat
dead, stinking,
release your true essence.
A ray of sunshine with great fury tore
the blue sky and cold as
the blood of a demon, and the poor
worm looked into
divine beings exist prior to sacrifice their pestilential
Costume:
"I need a change of skin" was justified
unnecessarily.
And he said, and did, and tore the flesh
dense strips ...
few drops of blood splashed
thick rounds of insect eyes, injected into destructive
desire, and the worm
tormented
was suddenly black and strange,
and sore.
But a snort
was sweet enough for the last scratch
of pain, there, in your trunk at least
disappeared: voilà! Fell into two wings,
glorious, dark red, here's the butterfly!
The worm was gone, the princess will replacing air.
The dead skin torn from the tree fell to the ground,
as garbage, excrement, horror etc ... and the Butterfly
pride began flight.
to join their family, to kill with its beauty.
was so happy, like grooves in the air ...
so happy,
still did not know that butterflies do not live
over two
days.
If I had known,
have missed their stinking meat
of nasty worms, rotting
,
disappearing ...
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