Blue Blooded Butterfly Massacre

There's been a butterfly massacre inside my belly. I can feel their guts, all blue and smearing into my guts-which I also think are blue. Obsessive lil butterfly bits that started to slip away from me bout the time I left New York. Slipped away and started going backwards... how did I become like this? Dazed, back in the California sunshine, it's little golden rays painted my skin blindingly, like alabaster ignited snow in winter light. Riding a bicycle, wearing a lil dress and pale blue french underwear, wind in my hair, reflecting wine colored light, catching golden rays like prisms in the sea visioned orbs of my eyes. As I rode I stood and shifted my weight, in turn with changing traffic lights-green to yellow to red-a monarch fluttered towards me, through the wind onto my pale ignited skin. Delicate in flight, the lil wings flashed yellow and red-like traffic lights-splattered with inky spots of black and blue... blue like my guts, blue like the butterfly massacre swallowed deep down inside my belly. When the lights shifted back to green and I continued to ride I could only assume the monarch continued in it's gentle harmonious flight into the sunny luster of the dazed California afternoon. As I moved above the turning spokes of my wheels, free and airy, I felt the dry chalky matter of the blue little butterfly wings start to creep up my throat, and choke me, suffocating. I could taste the little guts coming back into me, and I could feel something hot and wet between my legs... a pain cramped inside my tummy. In that moment a could have sworn a butterfly massacre melted out from between my thighs, blue, delicate, warm and insect clumped; a devil's abortion of sorts. When I got to the lake in that warm golden afternoon light and dropped my bike into the grass I let my body fall beside it, and felt the stains of fresh cut grass soaking, staining into my elbows and the backs of my thighs. I looked down at my legs-now suddenly covered in blue bruises as if the guts where miraculously staining the outside of my skin. I felt between my legs where a wet spot saturated my panties, in the same spot I would bleed. I slipped them off and looked down at the sky colored, silk threaded material... and found the delicate gossamer woven wings of a monarch-broken and fragmented in corpsey black bits of butterfly gut and blood, slowly becoming chalky. The strangest part was when I reached down and touched the blood it become blue, upon brushing my fingertips. Still to this day a faint blue stain remains upon my fingertips, and pale blue butterfly-shaped bruises like guts paint my legs... the truth is, that really, I don't ever wanna wash them off.