Softly, a girl.

A breath of cold blue life,

Enters the atmosphere from her bruised lungs.

The forest around her swells densely,

A frostbitten fog flows effortlessly through her.

As it was with rage and heat,

It all burns away eventually

and it was now winter.

Her teeth clicked together involuntarily without mercy,

In a tempo out of pace with her trudge through the trees.

An orange ripped jumpsuit revealing portions of her skin.

The cuts in the suit woven around her,

Blending her features to a tigers

But truthfully she was much more fragile,

And slightly toxic.

There walked the Monarch Butterfly,

Marching toward her conclusion,

On that beautiful winter morning.