I drew a butterfly on my wrist,
In hope that this feeling would no longer persist.
But things got bad and I started to cry,
So this butterfly on my wrist, it had to die.
Once again I tried to set myself free,
But it seemed my thoughts had stolen the key.
So this butterfly lived a very short life,
Killed with fear and a very sharp knife
YOU ARE READING
No. I'm not okay.
RandomThis will contain Ana,Mia,Cat, Deb, and maybe Sue poems/quotes.Thanks for reading. I am here for those of you struggling with an ED, depression, cutting, anxiety, addictions and others.
