It was a calm warm day past the end of the summer but before the cold fall. When the bleezes were blowing and the sun was stilll shining, and the darkening gloom on her eyes was advancing, and the numbifying pain had come, triumphed and moved on. Monsters ravishing her body, monsters too small to seem real. And she lay in the mists, in the sunlight in gloom. Too far gone to care about her doom. and she stared at the wall paper on the wall of the room. and she imagined bright fields where she could roam as a child. And her mind wandered over the edge to the place I can't follow. and the butterflies came alive from the walllpaper and flew. That is when I cried, because she died, and I finally knew. Part of me flies like a butterfly too.