The butterfly lands, always so lightly,
On my veins, visible so slightly.
Black ink wings across my wrist,
Reminding me to give up what I used to love best.
The fragile insect, so still and calm,
It will die if I self-harm.
Innocence protected if I remain strong,
Hasn’t that been the hope all along?
Butterfly, butterfly, drawn with love,
Give me something to be proud of.
Never erased, you’ll naturally fade
Maybe by then I’ll have put down the blade
Guardian of my precious blood below,
Maybe this habit I can finally outgrow.