Bleeding Butterfly

July 24, 2017
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There once was a butterfly,
Sitting pure and white.
It loved to dance and fly
Across the morning light.

It’s heart was devoid
Of hatred, lies, and death.
It held a special beauty
Like a baby’s breath.

Then on her own,
She took on some friends,
But they abused her,
Again, again, again.

She was marked with bruises,
But soon she moved away.
But the blood still bubbled
To her deep dismay.

No longer was she vibrant,
But dull and unaware.
That things could get better,
Because no one was there.

She flocked to the blade,
And after some debating,
A dark and daunting 
decision was made.

With a swift slice,
She jumped into opression,
Her wings now covered,
She had kissed depression.

But that can’t last forever, 
As she soon found out.
With suicide attempts
And an awful lot of doubt.

The butterfly opened her heart
Instead of scarred up flesh.
She allowed the light back in,
And was washed afresh.

With each day she grew stronger,
Learning how to trust.
And when she turned back home
The memories turned to dust.

Meager ghosts flitted by,
A shadow of her thoughts.
She still struggled,
She still had rough spots.

But in the end ‘
With determination and with care
She was set free
From death’s stony glare.






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