Dead Butterflies
The butterflies in my stomach Always make me vomit You crushed their wings After I spilled my guts If I give you a piece of my heart And you are careless enough To drop it on the floor There are no replacements It only creates a scar That makes it excessively harder For my heart to beat again For the next person My love always ends in wrath Writhing and convulsing A worm on the summer pavement Desperate for a droplet of relief