I killed my butterfly.
Pure and sweet.
Her wings no tattered;
Heart can't beat.

She once flew proudly,
Way up high.
She now withers in shame;
Looking at the sky.

She remembers this pain
From long ago.
She thought it was gone,
Buried deep below.

But it rose to the surface
to disrupt life.
Creates stinging, ****** marks,
A rusty box knife.

Deep breathes, a sigh;
Releasing her pain.
Another one is needed,
To keep her sane.

Once beautiful and kind,
Now ready to decay.
Her essence defaced.
I killed her today.