The butterflies.
No longer fluttering gracefully.
Haste to break free from the depts of a heavy womb.
Used to tickle me flushed pink.
Used to be sunshine and cresent moons.
Memories that smiled fought through gloom.
Wet, 
sticky,
 bittersweet, 
ashy crusted, 
molded wings.
Evolved into swarms of wondering bees.
Won't you please leave me alone.