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 the 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
P O E M S | (discontinued)
PoetryEditing | Translating To German If you see any mistakes please inform me. Poems. That's it. Probably about depression. [Uncompleted] Cover by; @MysticalKittie
