But how can that be?
I didn't want to live, you see.
I've come so far
With all these scars
Caused by a world of liars.
Insignificance, known by name
To be just another useless game
Where all the players are the same.
My arms are covered with butterflies,
An innocent image to another's eyes,
Filling their heads with endless lies...
These harmless creatures do not leave,
But instead, stay to watch me grieve...
Though they tell what I believe...
Let the poor butterflies go.
If you cared, you wouldn't say no.
Would you say you love them so?
The color is red, these simple things,
Dust trails behind their wings.
You will know when the butterfly sings...
That you should let me go.
*sigh* just something i actually started to sing while making tea. i thought it was pretty symbolic to my current... er... practice, so i wrote it down... typed it down... dee doo dah. now, back to the task at hand; finishing the audio narration for "devil's angel" that i started months ago and never finished.
i'm not looking forward to narrating and editing my current story in progress. it's gonna be loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooongthat'swhatshesaid.
it does get a little hard to resist for me, but my friends made me promise not to. problem is, I didn't just do it during depressed episodes, but manic episodes too. it's a little more scary when you cut out of extreme, irrational happiness
try drawing the butterflies with a red pen instead of a marker. that way the pressure sort of brings the pain without actually hurting the skin. I know that part of the satisfaction is seeing the blood, which makes the whole practice sort of hard, but all the same