Butterflies [A Poem About Depression]

Butterflies.

Butterflies surround my skin,

Showing how broken I am.

They all say it's a sin,

Some say it's all a sham.

They call me faggot,

They call me disgusting.

They call me dyke,

They call me queer.

Their words hit like a dagger,

Their laughs like a sword.

My blade falls with a clatter,

My blood poured.

My butterflies are gone,

I've killed them off,

One by one,

Their screams rings out.

A smile on my face,

Blood pouring out of my wrist.

A metallic taste,

I fall as I hiss.

Blood pools around me,

My breathing slows.

I can't see,

As I start to doze.

Blackness is all I see,

A sweet serenity.

I'm so sorry,

But this was my destiny.

I awoke in a white place,

My mother is crying.

I can see the pain on her face,

I feel like dying.

They say I need therapy,

The man bites on his pen.

I node carefully,

But I know I'll try again.

The butterflies won't live long,

They always die.

But it'll sing a beautiful song,

Once I'm gone.