Butterflies of dementia

He was out hunting in a cold and lonely night,
The sky - black velvet, and the moon shone bright
As this vicious killer by his sharp senses was led
To a hospital where a young lady laid demented.

He saw her grief, her suffering, her excruciating pain,
Her eyes filled with despair hearing the drops of rain,
His black heart pounded with pity and so he came
To take away her madness - her illness to tame.

He plunged his white teeth in her struggling body
Then bit his wrist – crimson blood pouring slowly
On her ashen lips that now turned red and graceful,
As night butterflies flew, witnessing her revival.

And so another fallen princess of darkness was born
The sickness that she bared from her mind now forlorn
And when she felt the beauty of this relief called sanity,
She swore that she will feed on this sickness of humanity.

Wherever she hears cries of despair she will quickly go
To kill the ones who are trapped by dementia’s woe
And it’s said that the last things they see before they die
Are the graceful wings of a fragile night butterfly…