Butterfly, whose wings are bent and broken,
Your once beautiful colors now faded and dull.
You lie there, weighed down by words unspoken,
Eyes vacant and empty, but heart so, so full.
Little butterfly, a wreck on the floor,
You can't pick yourself up, not alone.
You need someone to help, someone to open the door,
Someone to fix your wings and take you home.
Fragile butterfly, scared to be left in the dark,
To be left with the urge to bleed.
You want a lovely little mark,
The only sign of your coveted need.