broken butterflies.
I've never seen a face on a carton of milk,so they must think that we're all here...
My butterflies in jars, they've dropped to my gut.
On their knees; and their gut-wrenching fears...
I feel what you feel, do you feel it too?
I feel what you see, it's so real to me.
Am I being insensitive, by saying I can't feel a thing?
I say, 'Try again.'
You're crazy, expecting a different reaction from me -
I'm too easy to upset and so full of irony.
Contradictions are what I blow through my lips, like a whisper of soap
to clean my words.
Pop!
I'm just writing this down as you tell me the words.
You haven't spoken for nearly a week or more.
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