Butterflies Sting My Insides.

I always leave,
And every time I do,
It ends the same.

The knot in my stomach,
Tugging at me,
Because nothing has changed,
And it’s all my fault.

The words can’t come out,
I try to vocalise,
The knot rises and begins to untie,
And butterflies sting my insides,
And carry them away.
Far, far, far away from you.

And then I walk away feeling empty,
Emptier every time,
With thoughts pulsing through my head,
Clouding my mind.

Why does it have to be so hard?
Why do I fuck it up each and every time?

And then I think maybe words are not enough.
Or that you get it.

Maybe I am just too shy?
Or you are just too dumb?
Maybe we are both too proud?
Or maybe just maybe... we are exactly the same.