I drew bright butterflies on my wrist,
One, two, three.
I drew there with a razor blade,
So pain could set me free.
Day by day, night by night,
A ritual has formed.
I cover scars with cloth by day,
And at night my skin is torn.
A flash of silver; blood flows red,
And my cuts run deep.
Still my blade saws farther in,
All I want is sleep.
I live in pain, I live in hell,
My life's no longer joy.
If life is all a child's game,
Then I'm their broken toy.
I've cut too deep, the blood won't stop,
But death comes as relief.
For in my short, bitter life,
Pain became my chief.