The thought of you kissing her 
Is something that stitches up 
The lining of my stomach 
So the butterflies 
Will suffocate.

Those butterflies turn to ashes 
As I force myself to
Swallow your words
Coated with gasoline
Because you and I both know
That it meets well with the
Fire inside my heart
That burns more and more
To the thought of you...
So lucky me because 
That thought is measured
By intervals of infinity.

My stomach will forever
Be barren from those 
Goodie butterflies
Because you killed them.