Butterflies into Burnt Cocoons

Sitting here, head in the clouds.
I'm dreaming.
I'm screaming.
No talking, I'm just breaking and faking.
Remembering how to be someone else, and
Remembering what to do to be false.
Wishing I could be someone other than me.
Looking in the mirror at a tortured soul.
Blocking out everything and shutting down.
I retreat into the shadows to fade to nothingness.
Reverse metamorphosis.
The cocoon burns and falls to the ground.
There's nothing left and I cannot be found.
I'm tired.
I'm mired.
Through the scars and the wars, I still have lots of fears.
Holding onto a thread that is slowly fraying.
My wings are coming unglued and collapsing.
If I had some fairy dust or if I could hold a shooting star,
The hope I had wouldn't be failing, and I wouldn't be falling.