Butterflies

Please. You seem to have picked up my heart from its place on the ground and you have glued a few pieces back together but it is a job unfinished. There is still an incomplete mess resting in my stomach. All of the pieces that are still broken morph into butterflies in a pit of darkness. In their search for light they tickle and scratch until I feel like my skin is going to open from the inside and then they crawl into my veins and my nerves and I shiver so much it physically hurts. They work their way through my body, from the spewing acid pit that is my stomach and up into my brain, fogging my logic in a misty haze. I am blinded by irrationality. So please. Come back. Finish the job. Place my heart back together so that I may see clearly again and be rid of these terrible butterflies. Please.

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