Is love supposed to be poetic?
Or is real love this painful,
burning sensation
in the pit of your stomach?

The heart is not involved.
It is left whole
beautiful.
No scars, no breaks.

But the butterflies,
their wings catch fire
like paper,
they fall
silently screaming, crying.

But the heart is never hurt.
Just the innocent butterflies
that make you smile
laugh
cry
fall in love

they die.