I feel like there's something knocking
On papier-mâché doors, locking in the butterflies
That used to love you.
It's in my stomach, and they're scratching
With puppy dog nails, making sounds on linoleum,
Quiet an innocent.
I see you and it starts,
I feel the reverberations tickling up through my throat,
Vibrating my breathing and
Wrapping around my vocal chords like fingers.
The sounds still come out but
On puppet strings. Like hallucinogenic ingestibles or
Gaseous paranoia, I think I'm controlling this but the stage is a maze
With thousands of curtains.
I've lost something.
I'm trying to wrap my hands around wind.
I'm searching for something
Fragile and fluttering,
But you're standing right in front of me.