I drew a butterfly on my wrist,
In hopes that this feeling would not persist,
But things got bad and I wanted 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 away the key,
So this butterfly lived a very short life,
Killed by fear and a very sharp knife.
YOU ARE READING
Poems For Death✔️
PoéziaThey sound really pretty and there here for anyone who wants to read them. ~~~ My style of writing has improved so if you don't like these please check out my new book called A Poem For Death. ~~~