Butterflies

Butterflies in my stomach float up to my brain,
Outside of myself, I thought I was insane.
Then in no time at all the butterflies wane,
Four years ‘till insanity clears.

Loved typically by those with so much to gain,
As if it has power to subtract your pain.
But it’s pain that will haunt your final curtain
You won’t even notice their tears.

When I think I’ve lost you, you just come right back.
I filter you out somehow you’re still intact.
Though I know that I love you, you’re my only vice;
Either symptom or cause of the way I play dice.

Sewage unfiltered congealed on my lungs,
And I cry it’s not too late to see it undone.
Then I cry all I want is another one,
And I don’t seem to notice the years.

A man held my hand through his final note,
With yellow stained fingers and hole in his throat.
It’s been months since that note still I can’t bear the noise
As a tube sucks the mucous which ruins his voice.

Frail animal writhing round, eyes wide with fear.
Both of us wished to be anywhere but here.
Butterflies in my stomach, or maybe just flies
Will he notice my tears when he dies?