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.