**** these tiny butterflies,
that rest in my stomach,
and expand in my chest...

like little paper knives,
i choke.  

and
ill block my lungs one day,
and ***** them up,
coughing out each wing
and eyeball and
tooth
.
.
.

even if theyve got my tongue twisted,
and my brain scattered,

like paint,
it is venom to my
squeezing, breathing heart
and
one day
ill rip out my
intestines
just to see them
gone.