the butterfly method
only makes it worse
their name on my skin
ghosts of what could've been
and the washed out ink
fading, fading, in time
making me think
that I could fade
just like that
into oblivion
I would go
or at least that
is what I imagine
swift
quick
my butterfly is dead
a ragged scar through the name
that couldn't save my soul
no thoughts no blame
I was completely in control
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
ŞiirA whole lot of poems that I've written in the past couple of years. They're really just my way of expressing any emotions or feelings I get not all of them are true though so... yeah sometimes I just write to try to relate to different things. I hop...
