What he gives me…

A laugh louder than seven blasts of horns marking the coming of Jesus is what he gives me…
Walking around by myself, a woman stops to notice my deviant smile.
“Someone must have butterflies!”
I look at her like a hormonal teen girl who loves being a bitch, and wonder…
“Butterflies, who the fuck gets butterflies!?”
I just got shot with two shells from a shot gun and my inside are bleeding out so furiously and the smile on my face is both the satisfaction and fear that my death has finally happened, and unfortunately may happen again.
Butterflies float around with grace so calming the earth is having as many orgasms as it can to birth more of those winged gods.
What he gives me is a drunk driver smashing the center of my stomache.
What he gives me is a shortness of breathe matched by the shortness of any thought but him.
What he gives me is a sensation so raw, so obnoxious, so utterly defeating I can’t help but scream in hopes that whatever poison he sneaked into my heart.
The screams don’t do much at all but make me look like more of fool.
That’s how my love is.
Really loud random screams that are short but filled with passion but don’t really do anything in the long run but embarrass the victim it hunts.

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