I drew a butterfly on my wrist
In hopes this feeling would not 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
A poem for death
PoetryCutting poems and quotes. They just sound really pretty and they're here for anyone. I'm here for anyone that needs me too