Quiet

You could

shoot off my side

To study my stomach

and the digestion of my words.

Cannibalistic butterflies

released in my lungs

By a hand 

thrust between my teeth

and down my throat

So my voice

is swallowed by swooshing

as tiny wings beat about.

Nests on my larynx

trap the jack in his box

He was feared

so now he is gone;

he was my friend.

Bees buzz in my ears

I expect them to fall out my mouth

A horror movie show

starring my vocal chords.