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.