Butterflies in my stomach,
Battering their ripped wings to escape,
And it's when they break free of their prison,
That I have to pull my hair back from my face,
Ready for that all-too-familiar sensation.
Butterflies in my limbs,
I feel their movement as I walk,
One cautious step at a time,
Shaking on my ungainly legs,
My hands falling idle by my thighs.
Butterflies in my mind,
Clouding my train of thought,
Tricking me with sweet lyrical detours,
So much so that I feel lost,
Lost between what is real and what is not.
Butterflies in my eyes,
Blurring my vision with more than salty tears,
Draping a hazy grey mist over the world,
Changing everything that I once saw,
Seeing myself from the outside.
Butterflies in my heart,
Causing my breathing to falter once in a while,
Every time I think of what it all means,
They wrap their fragile wings around it,
Caressing it with a false care.
---------------------
Butterflies in my soul,
They are never bright
snippets of colour,
I've noticed that recently,
They're grey,
Always grey.
