The rest of the death

My heart had stopped forever.
How do I breathe? How I do breathe?
The oxygen is fever.
I catch it somewhere underneath.

The butterflies are flying by.
Whom do belong they? Who's their Lord?
And do they care about cry?
And do they know this word?

I'm still collecting every breath.
I'm going build the sky.
I'll put on snow white shiny dress.
I'm ready now to die.
(24.07.2012)