The decay of Butterflies

Watch her move acrossed a darkend room,
Trapped forever in her mind.
Skin so white and pure...
Oh how so untouchable she is.
Eyes so black so impure,
They stare right through.
Trapped graceful movements,
Silky dust soon sprinkles as the enemy is created.
So weak, so impure with impurity,
she dies.
Falling to the ground only to be,
Forgotten