“She’s like a jar of butterflies, waiting to be opened.”

We search for meaning. And destroy it.

She was simple. Like a poem, and always dressed in sunshine.

She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.

A lot of ugly people hide behind beautiful eyes. A lot of things are only lies.

I never drink in the morning. Mornings are for drugs.

She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.

It’s funny how love fades, and they become more than a poem about yesterday.

Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.

Sometimes I wonder if these rain soaked shoes will get me home.

She wanted romance. I just wanted to fuck the stars out of her eyes.

Women are beautiful. But some are made of hell.

This heart. It’s broke. I don’t want it anymore.

Romance is a dream. I can get better shit at the liquor store.

With her, the world becomes art.

I hated you. and you hated me. But we called it love.

Love lives. and dies. as fast as butterflies.

April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.

With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.

She’s beautiful chaos and wild butterflies.

Sweet freedom whispered in my ear, you’re a butterfly, and butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high-away, bye-bye.

She’s beautiful, she looks kind, she probably gives you butterflies.

Don’t just give me butterflies I will never settle for less than a love that’s passionate and wild I need you to set my heart on fire I want you to set my soul ablaze.

You could see a butterfly as just a butterfly, or you could see it as an iridescent flower amidst the endless periwinkle blue skies.

Chase the butterflies which caused you to dream.