Thump, thump, thump.
I believe butterflies have created a nest in my stomach.
They flutter around, hitting the sides of my organs and pushing their way around.
Butterflies are far from delicate creatures in me.
Their wings are made of metal; their antennas, of daggers.
Thump, thump, thump.
My lungs have trouble working.
Don't focus on it, however, or else I'll never recover.
Air comes in with a gasp, and out it goes with a flood.
Breathing brings no comfort to me.
Yes, it keeps my brain working and my blood flowing, but perhaps I'd prefer if it didn't sometimes.
Thump, thump, thump.
Do not mention my heart rate.
Thump
I personally believe it's trying to make a world record.
Thump
My heart finds no comfort in my body.
Thump
Just listen for it.
Thump
There, do you hear it?
Thump
It's a rumble,
Thump
An ominous prediction.
Thump
But sometimes that prediction is something silly.
Thump
Perhaps today it's that I'm at the dentist's office.
