Butterflies

Smile like there's nothing wrong.

Lie like you've won an Oscar.

Long sleeves to hide the marks, to hide the tears, to hide the evidence.

To hide the truth.

Your mind wanders to before, to when you were happy.

To when you could laugh and feel alive.

When you felt real.

But then it goes further, deeper, to when you felt dead .

You thought you could be happy. That they would let you go and be happy.

Hell, that they'd just let you go.

Those thoughts. Those demons. That pain.

Now those thoughts are back.

For the first time in a long time.

They're back.

And again, they're not going without a fight.

Think of the others.

The people who love you, the ones who want you safe.

Think of the butterflies; God, Jesus, Matty and Jessie.

It's not worth it.

It's not worth it.

There's no point in it.

No matter how bad it gets, no matter how shit, worthless or alone you feel.

You fight and you strife until the thoughts are gone.

It'll get better.

Keep telling yourself that, it'll get better.

Because it just has to, doesn't it?

Everyday is a struggle.

You know you want to.

You know you need to.

Just one to make it feel better.

Just one and it'll go away.

It hurts more to stop yourself than to harm yourself.

It's not worth it.

It's not worth it.

You lie to their faces.

To the ones who you love.

The ones who say they love you.

You smile to hide the pain.

You laugh so you seem sane.

You talk so you look the same.

But what you say and what you mean are two completely different things.

But you know it's not worth it.

It's not worth it.

So put down the pen! And throw away the knife!

Let the butterflies fly, fly away from the scars on your skin, the stains on your sleeves, the ink on your wrists that remind you to stop.

To think.

To remember who cares.

It's not worth it. But you are. There's no point. There's more to life. There's more to you than that knife.