This feeling inside are not the butterflies everyone describes.
They are just flies buzzing around, multiplying with every revolting sound.
Can you hear? They are eating the viscous flaccid meat and drinking the ever effervescent yellow acid.
As if cheering for such succulent buffet, they conglomerate like vultures stuffing their bellies on a fallen pray, or as mosquitos sucking blood until drunk.
They enchant songs of everlasting joy with their little wings flying and dancing in the ballroom that is my stomach.
Where is the butter infront of the fly? Was I supposed to eat some, mommy?
Why are these disgusting creatures inside of me instead of beautiful butterflies?
Where did it go wrong? Mother nature, almighty God, force of the cosmos and universal rule... Has it been just random chance?
Was there no caterpillar? Or was there something else inside this bile?
Infected! I must have been infected with some sort of larvae that at the end killed the metamorphosis of my delicate papillons. No other explanation, this must have been the cause!
However...
It does not matter anymore, for I long no more to speak of this ill matter.
I'm decaying from the inside out... It is gone, the nectar that was going to nurture the insect that was love.
I'm sick with nobody to nurse my dead, putrid, and decomposed soul.
Only flies fly around, just flies and not butterflies.
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