The day doesn’t always begin with the sun
Fell out of bed, no carpet or cushion.
Saw a butterfly pinned to a cactus plant
Butterfly bandage won’t work, I can’t do what it can’t.

Fires alight in the pits of his eyes
Seething turmoil beneath that beautiful disguise.
A monotonous routine so zealously pursued
Wondering yet cowering in position, glued.

Promises made to be broken or kept
Perhaps they’ll remember, perhaps they’ll forget.
The friendly hand reaching out and closing the gap
Becomes rotten and drops a curse in my lap.

Mine to deal with, mine to lament
Knowing the cure, but unable to prevent.
The heart knows no boundaries, neither does the brain
Then why is one a martyr, the other insane?

Steps and boundaries, edges and fine lines
Blurred under the influence of emptiness or wine.
The past is dead, the future on its way
To redemption or destruction, who’s to say?

Written by: Hira Ahmad
6th to 7th of July, 2009