The butterflies in my stomach
are nothing more than dust,
decayed wings
crumbled to oblivion.
Once caterpillars, fed on smiles,
caresses, laughs, and
the stars in your eyes,
they grew until they blossomed.
They wrapped themselves up
in the warmth of hope and the
promise of the sparkling future
you whispered to them.
Out burst their brilliant wings,
colored and magnificent,
fearlessly beating and tickling
my insides, making me blush.
Oh, how they fluttered and danced
in my cavernous torso,
almost flying out of my mouth
to kiss your cheeks with their wings.
Imagine their surprise when you left,
their wings slowed, they landed, slept,
quietly waiting your return,
but you never came to wake them again.
Skeletons of beauty and joy,
they lie at the pit of my stomach,
their weight is so light,
yet miserably heavy.