• neuronwreath 65w

    Band aids and butterflies

    My band aids turned into butterflies,
    Left behind pretty purple bruises,
    Ruptured vessels,
    You and I,
    My body's in the gutter,
    Because I fell for your words coated with honey and butter.
    Your hands, your smell, the broken bones
    All that emotional clutter.
    Am I getting better?
    I thought you were the one that's sick.