Butterfly Net

I cut myself with the dullest knives for a decade,

And I believed that I could fully strangle the pain.

I lived through self-inflicted wounds and raging rush,

Yet, my stories ran dry, and I lost touch.

Nobody told me that my tongue was long dead,

They happily took away my golden threads.

No one really seemed to mind my fleeting breath,

Let me live and let me die in a butterfly net.

Was I foolish for thinking the future was promised?

I cut myself with the shards from my chalice.

My core was a rotten weed, destined to die,

But destiny is a fragile thing if you dare to try.

-Jackie