A Butterfly's Loss Of Life. Poem by Kid of Los Angeles

Why, Why, Why
Why doeseth he look the other way?
Am I strange, hideous dark?
True, True, True.
I am all of the above.
I am a clipped rose.
With a paresite upon my petals.
Clipped away from all life.
No source of life, no sense of renewal.
My butterfly's attention lands on a bright yellow rose.
Gorgeous flowing, voluptuous petals.
My butterfly floats upon her rather than me.
My bloom has ended.
Yet it never began.
Where do I go? What do I do?
For if no butterfly pollenates me,
I shall fade away...