Yellow cries like butterflies
Being disabled
Burning inside their tiny
Insect bodies.

Yellow burns into orange
Into red
Into blue
Consuming their mild purity
Like spring
Disintegrating into summer.

Yellow is the field
Where happiness weeps
Like falling trees
Like water.

Yellow is the butterfly
That flutters like
Eyelashes
Over the dying garden
Guarded by fences
Caging in layers
Of blue eyeshadow.

Yellow is the piercing air
Like screeching needles
Impaling the butterfly
Each dropping to bleakness
Like rain
Like tears.

Yellow is their fragile existence.