You always give me butterflies.
Won’t you take them away?
I find it nearly impossible to think when my heart is beating to the rhythm of their gossamer wings.
And it’s all because of you.

You weren't the butterflies in my stomach —no, you were the ache
in my chest.
You were the lust in my eyes and the longing in my bones.
And there's nothing I can do to shake the stinging feeling of
wasps one my skin, in the places you should be.

I've had a hole
growing in
my stomach for
days.
Butterflies are
wrapped up
in the ribbon
in your
tapes, and
they come inside
and tie
confused
little knots around
my bones.

Every breath, a weight
on my chest, reluctantly
comes, being chased
only by my
quickening pulse.
A knife slips between
my ribs and with
every word that passes over my lips, it
twists.
A silent scream is trapped
behind my teeth.
Butterflies with knives
are cutting up
my insides.


Found poem from Automatic Loveletter's song "Butterflies"

She grasped me by the notes of affection. Making me believe that, once more I can love .. that emptiness is not my destination .. making me complete and insurmountably whole .. what fell me down to rigorous discourse .. could she be the one to open my shell .. I have explored the idea, not much by far.. for affection is in its own place.. commitment is its own.

The child holds in their hand a stunning flower
Beautiful, exotic and rare
They pull the glowing flower apart in a colorful shower
The soft, velvety petals rip and tear
Fluttering slowly to the ground
The bright pieces stand out against the gloomy floor
No one can hear the flower's silent screeching sound
Of being ripped from the core
The wind blows the fading petals into the dark abyss
The child tosses the stem aside, and skips away in bliss

I have once again, left
open the door to
my heart and
the wasps have found
their way in.
The fluttering in my bones
was not from the
butterflies.
It was the sharp sting of
falling in love
with you.

A Fix
Burn
Comforting
Fluttering
Itching
Need
Pain
Piercing
Pressur­e
Stabbing
Tingling

-still-

It's either euphoric or revolting,
what some would call love.