The colour of what is left

What is left has no colour, when all the
Butterflies die
We have seen everything, there’s nothing left.
Naked we lie!
As our fire burn out by the winter’s cove
With dreary cheers.
All I see are faults we once overlooked;
Sad stares and fears.
Through nightmares and a messy past, screaming
Till I implode.
The remnant is a ticking time bomb
Soon to explode.
Bits and pieces scattered through space and time.
Lips mumur, mumbling through rhyme with a mime.

Vera