Butterfly- The Collector and poetry

So I need to write to cleanse my soul. My body has started cleansing itself. Since that blood. Surely. I know something happened.

How many lemons can we juggle whilst dancing gracefully?

Is Love my final decision? Deep down whispering and still.

My dream has fallen into feathers of pink flowing in a cloudy room made of bubbles like the stars. Each one shining on their own.. but stars collide sometimes in the perfection of the universe?