Poems


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4. butterflies

I drew a butterfly on my wrist,

In hope that this feeling would no longer exist,

But things got bad and I stated to cry,

So the butterfly on my wrist had to die,

Once again I tried to set myself free,

But it seamed my thoughts had stolen the key,

So this butterfly had a very short life,

Killed with fear and a very sharp knife.

THIS IS NOT MINE! I GOT IT FROM ANOTHER BOOK, I TAKE NO CREDIT!!!

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