The idea of love
It twists itself into a coil
Wrapping itself up into a hard
KNOT, a solid // heavy bulging
cluster pushing up on
the heart from below //
the abdomen
where the butterflies search
finding nourishment // human sorrow
ONCE rooted,
it sprouts black tendrils
hot and sharp, digging
slowly into the network
of nerves bundled // on the little airlocks
that sit on each side of the human engine
// Leaving little room for breath,
and plenty for bile
This is a poem about how I felt when someone who hurt me told me afterward that they loved me. It was a confusing and painful experience. It was an alien, violent caricature of love. I subverted the idea of the butterflies one gets in their stomach when they have loving feelings for someone. Instead the butterflies feed on human sorrow like vultures, and the idea of love takes physical manifestation as a malevolent force that attacks one's vital organs.