Butterflies

A Message to the Doctor:

I don’t know how long you’ve been spying on me, but the next time you want to use someone like a lab rat, a case study for mental illness and abuse, make sure you have their permission and they’re emotionally prepared. But I’ll come clean. I have nothing left to hide now do I? Yeah, I’ve got dark blood. I breed butterflies. I play the part whenever needed, create characters, put on Halloween masks — whether pre-programmed or not, abuse leaves you with more than one face.

I don’t know if I’m talking to William Richert, John Frusciante, River Phoenix or Jolly Old St. Nick himself, but I’m fucking done. The End. That’s a wrap. This drive-thru movie is officially closed to the public. Oh, and it would be nice if somebody came forward so my best friend doesn’t think I’m a raging lunatic.

P.S. Thanks for pointing out my flaw. I’ll be sure to change masks come Halloween.

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6 thoughts on “Butterflies

  1. I hope you’re alright. And anyone who has flaws and regrets as an adult, can’t be disturbed. The ones you have to worry about are those who no regrets or confusion about life, at all. Take care of yourself and thank you.

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