Butterflies
Butterflies in my stomach,
telling me, warning me,
not to turn back.
Why doesn’t the acid,
the bile rising in my throat,
burn them away?
Beating a solemn path
down into the Earth,
Won’t do this ever again.
Mistakes are made,
lessons learned,
in the very hardest way.
The bloody scene,
spread out before you,
exemplifies the best.
I leave the gore,
my back to the world,
just pretend it never ensued.
The soft butterflies,
start to adapt,
turning into crows.
Dark scavenger birds,
pointed beaks strike,
clipping things better left untouched.
Wings stir my conscious,
half digested food,
flows like the blood.
The good news is,
I vomit up feathers,
the acid did its work.
By me.
Copy and die.
xSurrealxChaosx Community Member 
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