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 

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