The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering,
Just like in the movies,
but it's sickening,
so sickening I can't stand it.
Every time we catch glances,
The butterflies flap their torturous wings,
I want to want him
to feel his skin against mine
but I can't
The butterflies fly their vicious cycle
and play their cruel game.
I want to feel his embrace,
his warm lasting hold on me,
but it disgusts me,
even just the thought of it,
brings nightmares to my daydreams.
Every moment spent with him,
is an indescribable feeling
that overwhelms in ways both
good and bad.
Is this what they call
'love'?
Or is this just another form of
'hate'?
