"the thing with wings"

You get butterflies in your stomach
when your heart gets in your throat.
The butterflies fly up your butt
and poop out eggs of hope

And when they hatch,
those caterpillars
eat you from within

You're all filled up with hard cocoons
a metamorphosis
to begin
Soon

soon.

You're growing wings in places you can't fly
But soon,

Soon.
Soon,

Your hopes matured
in acid bath of undigested
questions why

will burst from you
and fly,

And never die.

And you'll lie there, an empty husk
with just enough of moisture left
to cry,

with your open, staring eyes

chasing butterflies