PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Im just a wounded butterfly,

I have no meaning in life,

Handed down in paper ties.

My life was abandoned.



I cannot fly,

My wings are broken,

Im stuck here left to rot and die.

He got his last token.



Butterfly once beautiful,

Turned to dark in the blink of an eye,

Stuck in a sell marked quarantine.

The death is within me, no tears left to cry.



A butterfly made of no feeling, no guilt, and no regret,

The wings are shattered no hope of survival,

The difference between a butterfly and a mammal,

Is that we can feel the knife go through our heart.



But Im just a wounded butterfly,

For I cannot feel anymore,

I have no means of life, no means of survival, and no means of paper ties.

My wings are broken, old, and tore.



No means of life,

No means of regret,

No means of survival,

No life left to lead.



Im just a wounded butterfly,

Stuck in the middle of hell and earth,

No pity, no regret, Ive paid my last dues.

Looking down on my broken soul.



Im just a wounded butterfly,

That slowly spread her wings.

Im just a wounded butterfly,

That isnt wounded anymore.



Im just the wounded butterfly,

That never was really wounded,

Im just a wounded butterfly,

Whose life was put on hold.



Im just a wounded butterfly,

That finally spread her wings.

Im just a wounded butterfly,

That finally flys free from everything that held her back.