so it turns out they’re not butterflies at all but rather dull razor blades set on motorized hinges. harmless enough when small in number, the soft swiping of metal swooshing against stomach lining is deceptively soothing at times. but in time the damn things multiply [who knew machines could multiply?] and now Wings[c]** sharpen Wings[c] and it becomes clear that these Wings[c] were fashioned for friction not flying. their cruel purpose is fully realized in their mass production and the subsequent spilling of my guts.
*: the title is a quote from 'sixteen candles', the sound advice of samantha[molly ringwald]'s father.
**: those are supposed to be lil copyright symbols but i don't know how to type them without the assistance of microsoft word.