The Abyss That Is My Stomach.
Something I miss very deeply was a part of me long carried away by another.
My heart it is not, for that I feel beating safely within its marrow confines,
But the Butterflies that used to plague it which I, In turn, Attempted to smother.
The tears which I tried, vainly, to suppress, in joy, in sorrow, Face contorted by lines.
Where have They Gone? I know where, But I shall not tell, No, not I.
Not even to the reflection which stares back at my eye.
My heart it is not, for that I feel beating safely within its marrow confines,
But the Butterflies that used to plague it which I, In turn, Attempted to smother.
The tears which I tried, vainly, to suppress, in joy, in sorrow, Face contorted by lines.
Where have They Gone? I know where, But I shall not tell, No, not I.
Not even to the reflection which stares back at my eye.
♠ ♠ ♠
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