Purple Butterflies

Sometimes they’re pretty,

Little purple butterflies

Sometimes green, red

Bruises, wet 

by tears from silent cries.

I used to get shocked, 

Now they’re no surprise

Expected, you never flinch

Sore skin, tired eyes.

Bruises feel 

Better, as they heal with time

But the words that I hear,

The threats fuel the fear

But then its suddenly ‘i love you my dear’

How could you love skin,

That you tormented for years.

Now I’m haunted for years, waiting for it to happen again.

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