Butterflies

Each day passing,
Like identical taxis on the road,
My problems are never solved,
Just stacked in to a heavier load.

Breaking point,
Is where I may find,
The strength to persist,
And a small peace of mind.

The butterflies, they love,
To flutter around inside,
Crushing all of my dreams,
Leaving me only myself to confide,

Pesticides, perhaps,
Could murder them fairly fast,
But their last breath,
Would also be my last.

Would you pull the trigger,
On a gun that fired both forward and back?
Would you destroy your enemies,
Or would it be courage that you lack?

One day, you may find,
A lifeless body in front of your door,
And with a knife through its stomach,
The butterflies are no more.