crimson butterflies

an edge of silver
turns flesh to embossed bands/striations
that seep glistening tears
swirling in the water
like horrible crimson butterflies
that follow my limbs as they’re pulled across the surface
they seem to be angry at me if I disturb them:
they’re content to sink to the bottom
but I stir them up, making them beat their wings furiously
scolding me and my erratic agitation
til I’m bathing pale skin
in a rose-colored glow
and am washed down the drain