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the narcissist cookbook - butterflies in a collector's cabinet lyrics

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the cobbled path _ black and white like the squares of a chessboard _ wound its way through the thicket, so dense with th_rns that jack couldn’t so much as gasp for air without feeling the sting of a th_rn slicing into her skin

__

following the success
brownley made urgent plans
to return to st sasha
to collect more stories
to capture and pin them down in his book
like b_tterflies in a collector’s cabinet _
and of course to sell them on, ultimately

but it was too late
the tourism… (i cannot go this way. and i can’t turn back either.)

the tourism that was brought to the island
by the success of the book
had proven to be more
than the remote community’s
fragile ecosystem could handle (oh god, ow… that’s bleeding.)

by the time brownley returned
the island had been abandoned
even the dizzying rock tower
the islanders had told stories around
had been demolished
to make way for a lighthouse
he never wrote anything again

nothing that was published, anyway

__

“i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be a ghost,” said the boy

“can i tell you a secret?” said the forest. “i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be haunted.”

- the narcissist cookbook

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